


Vibranium Bound

by Harrishawksuperiour



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Animals, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Battle of Wakanda (Avengers: Infinity War), Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes-centric, Bucky's Farm, F/M, Farmer Bucky Barnes, Matchmaking, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Romantic Friendship, Slow Build, Steve visits Bucky in Wakanda, Strangers to Lovers, Veterinary Medicine, Wakanda (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 68,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harrishawksuperiour/pseuds/Harrishawksuperiour
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes has recently surfaced from his voluntary cryostasis; a necessity if his Hydra brainwashing is to be undone. While he heals, Bucky enjoys a peaceful existence on his own patch of heaven in the Wakandan plains. Too peaceful almost.At least Shuri thinks so when she starts meddling.





	1. Meddling

**Author's Note:**

> My first Marvel fic. Yes, it is an OC. I just want to see how it'll go.  
> Please note: the name is nothing to do with Frozen. Rather, it refers to Elsa the Lioness from Born Free.  
> To my Star Wars followers: I'm currently working on Pristine Condition and Matched!  
> Be gentle!  
> Rating subject to change.

Stealth.

 

It is one of the many attributes of a cat. Any cat. Even the Black Panther.

 

Incidentally, so is curiosity, and T’Challa was not exempt from that either. Unlike any other time his brief snatches of curiosity directed his gaze to the fleeting doorway of Shuri’s lab, there was finally something to make him double back.

 

T’Challa waited in the doorway, assessing and confirming that what he _thought_ he was seeing, was what he was _actually_ seeing. Arms crossed over the black of his tunic, T’Challa kept his distance and his silence amid the constant _whirring_ of one piece of equipment or another. Thus far, Shuri was none the wiser.

 

Two holographic projections of static images. Facial images. One male. One female. Both familiar, though one slightly more than the other. While they were simply a source of mild intrigue for Wakanda’s king, they seemed to be a primary focus for the genius princess.

 

“I take it Seargent Barnes is trigger-free now?”

 

Shuri jumped, and in her immediate frenzy of fright, her first instinct was to swipe the projection to the next frame: a brain scan.

 

“Brother!” The exclamation (to the untrained eye) oozed a (seemingly) genuine enthusiasm for T’Challa’s sudden appearance. Pivoting neatly on the ball of her foot, her exuberance carried into her voice, despite its traitorous higher pitch; the only indication of potentially getting caught and knowing it. “You should knock, you know! What if I was-?”

 

“What are you doing, Shuri?” T’Challa’s head inclined, his eyes narrowed and his tone rippled with suspicion; Shuri did not buckle as the king advanced on the projection.

 

“Just checking on the White Wolf's latest scan!” She chirped with conviction, going through the motions by enlarging certain parts and running the appropriate program with little more than a motion of her hand. “He continues to respond well to the treatment. No violent impulses, his memory function remains strong…"

 

For a moment, it seemed Shuri had talked her way clear, convinced her brother that her agenda was as she stated. T’Challa decided to let her believe it for a few seconds longer; what’s more, approaching the projection and examining it in the same fashion Shuri had, immersing himself in it.

 

“You and I both know that White Wolf is little more than a nickname-“

 

She nodded along, relieved and pleased that her ruse had succeeded while he appeared to scrutinize the projection. Until he swiped to the previous frame, to the motionless twosome that caused the princess’ lips folded into a thin line at the realization: Caught.

 

“So, I fail to see what a veterinarian can do for him.”

 

“He was here yesterday!” Shuri protested, ruse abandoned. Side by side, the pair of static faces from the official Wakandan database stared back at them, together but separate. “He was just so… _Lonely!_ ” Truly, her heart wrenched to recall it, how his answers had been hollow and distant during the scan, how his mood had been at a pitying low.

 

“Shuri. We still do not know if he is stable-“

 

“You doubt me, brother?!” A nerve touched, and rightly so when Shuri’s brilliant brain had set itself one task since Bucky Barnes’ arrival: Ridding him of Hydra’s programming.

 

“Never.” He replied evenly and firmly but without a trace of apology. “But even if he is, you should not be meddling.”

 

“Not _meddling_.” Shuri countered dismissively, having recovered from her offence and replaced it with smugness instead. “ _Matchmaking. A gentle nudge_.”

 

It was T’Challa’s turn to purse his lips as Shuri pottered from the projection and back to her workbench to upload something else to the projection: a schedule.

 

“And it just so happens, brother, that a new stop has been added to Doctor Kincaid’s rounds for tomorrow. Routine examinations, but vital all the same when animals have travelled quite a distance to a new farm, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

“And what does Elsa make of this?” T'Challa was right to be dubious, keeping his arms folded over his chest in obvious scrutiny of his sister's ploy.

 

“She is most enthusiastic!” Shuri’s bubbly response only deepened T’Challa’s dread as one hand rose to hopelessly cradle his cheek; once something got into her incredible mind, there was no budging it.

 

“I…see.”

 

“Of course, it is only courteous!” Shuri’s beat of a pause matched the dreading beat in T’Challa’s chest; why did he feel like she was _purposely_ leaving something out? “I called her to personally inform her of the addition to her route!” There it was, prompting T’Challa’s sceptical lean forward and his fingers steepled just beneath his nose in anticipation of an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted.

 

“So, she knows nothing.”

 

“She knows of the White Wolf.” Shuri went on casually, flicking through the programs for something to do while her brother resignedly occupied himself with live security feeds from the palace and its grounds. “She knows she is assessing the stock of a new farm south of the palace. He knows a veterinarian is coming to ensure his stock are in good condition.” Cue Shuri’s coy half-turn with the glint of mischief in her eyes; T’Challa did all he could not to roll his. “Beyond that, the element of surprise will strike them together.”

 

Was there harm to it? T’Challa couldn’t decide. Would it be so terrible for such a tortured soul like the White Wolf, the Winter Soldier, to find some scarce bit of companionship? More, if Shuri had anything to do with it? His stay was, after all, indefinite, why not make it enjoyable? Or bearable, at least? And Elsa… She tended to keep to herself; her sociality extending only to wherever her work sent her. Maybe they were just the right level of odd to be compatible; loneliness can be strange like that.

 

But just in case…

 

“I am staying out of it, Shuri.” T’Challa declared, hands tossed in defeat above his shoulders as he made for the door; not that his dissatisfaction would deter Shuri. “If it goes wrong, I want nothing to do with it.”

 

“Well…” Shuri spoke only to herself, now that Wakanda’s capable ruler had left the conversation and the lab. The floating faces remained behind her, a reminder of what she must do in a bid to inject a shot of happiness into two stranger’s lives. Swift, adept movements of her fingertips (their agility perfected with practice and time) added more to another frame: Coordinates. “I think… The White Wolf has been lone for too long.” One final **tap** into thin air punctuated and finalized the sent message; no going back now. T’Challa was right when he figured his disapproval meant nothing; not when Shuri stood back, watched and waited until the message was confirmed as being sent, accepted and seen. The little dots of an impending reply practically had her bouncing on the balls of her feet, the blossom of fluttering excitement almost tangible.

 

“It is time he met the Lioness.”


	2. Learning Curves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's coexistence with the goats is testing. And even more so when the vet turns up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cranky old man Bucky.

Goats ate grass, hay and (as he’d recently learned, to the detriment of garments drying on his clothesline) everything else. Nothing was safe.

 

So preoccupied with this latest lesson in the form of a slobbery, chewed, ragged work shirt, James Buchanan Barnes did not immediately register an imminent shifting in the peace of the Wakandan plain.

 

Perhaps that was a testament to Shuri’s efforts of vanquishing not only the Winter Soldier, but any traces of piqued abilities that would discomfort this new, simplistic existence. Those were safely stored away, somewhere in his brain, not in the forefront for survival. He was assured that, if (or when) the time came, he would have no trouble remembering them. But for now, he could enjoy a purpose of cultivation and nurturing, instead of slaughter and destruction.

 

If he could get the hang of it, that is. With the equal abundance of training and brainwashing, Bucky’s assimilation to havoc had been automatic, therefore he thrived within it, despite himself. This new farming thing… He would give it more time before he tried something else. What else, he couldn’t be sure, but the goats were fine… When they weren’t eating his clothes and his vegetable patch. And why would he deny the local children their newest pastime of watching the grumpy, one-armed white man trying to do farm work?

 

His current task involved trying to reinforce the fence around his self-sustenance; easier said than done with one arm. Bucky’s sole focus was engulfed with sandwiching his body weight against the fence; both to hold the board steady and as a support for his body to do so; meanwhile trying to swing back his (only) arm with enough force to drive the nail in. An awkward, cumbersome and tiring venture. Until he was given a reprieve.

 

The hammering was enough to drown anything out, but even at that, engines were not an unusual sound where he now called home. Not frequent but not out of the ordinary either. Hence why he didn't distract himself from his current undertaking with something so trivial.

 

“James Barnes?”

 

Bucky stopped hammering. Had he really heard that? Someone call his name? A name that, admittedly, he hadn’t been called in some time. Certainly not by a tiny, dark-haired specimen clambering out of a topless jeep. Bucky straightened, hammer still in hand and the brooding frown that had earned him the “grumpy” reputation among the children. She was walking towards him; how could it not be her who called him?

 

“Are you James Barnes?” She asked again, closing in with the infectious (and seemingly learned) swagger of a Wakandan; even if the accent was _very_ different. “Shuri sent me to assess the animals.” Then it dawned on the murderous puppet-turned-farmer: She was the vet.

 

“Oh. Yeah.” With little more than a dismissive flail of the hammer in the general direction of the enclosures, the piquing of Bucky’s interest in the stranger plummeted, and his need to return to the job prevailed. “Over there.”

 

She stood there for a moment, bewildered by the lack of communication, input and concern. But instead of pressing the issue, Elsa (having dealt with stranger) simply retrieved her bag and went about what she went there to do; much to the disinterest of the animals’ owner.

 

 

An hour, or possibly less, Bucky (while refusing to admit defeat to a _fence_ ) opted for a break and timed it well with lunchtime. Leftover rice, mixed vegetables and cured meat would do just fine before he faced his latest adversary once more. But even then, Bucky couldn’t have peace; not when a shadow darkened the doorway.

 

“Excuse me, Mister Barnes?” It seemed her formality had heightened when his reception was less than welcoming. “May I come in?” Save for a grunt and an indication to the chair opposite him, Bucky did not deviate much attention from his meal; meagre and all as it may have been.

 

She took the basic, grudging hospitality and the seat that went with it while organizing sheets of handwritten paper and stowing her bag down by her feet.

 

“Thank you. I have… some notes.”

 

 _Swell._ Bucky thought dryly, mid-chew. _Bedtime reading._

 

“Everyone seems to be fine for the most part, nothing that can’t be fixed by dietary adjustments but… What do you know about goat midwifery?” The chewing stopped and dark blue eyes heightened to the ones watching him a little _too_ closely from across the table. What kind of question was that?!

 

“What?”

 

“Goat. Midwifery.” She repeated slowly, and with unwavering patience; like it was a question she asked every day. That said, being a veterinarian, she probably asked it more than Bucky heard it. “What do you know about it?”

 

“I… Nothing!” The visitor’s spine steeled at the borderline indignance in the answer. Was this a joke?! Screw with the new guy?! Goat midwifery?! “What would I-?!”

 

“Well, you’d best learn, Mister Barnes.” She retorted, patience splintering for the first time, and not without reason. Instead of letting the tension get the better of her, Elsa rose with decorum befitting her breeding, to continue her rounds. “Your nanny, the black and white one? With the funny eye? She’s pregnant. About four weeks to her due date by my estimation.” It only took one, graceful swoop for Elsa to collect her bag before returning her gaze to a disgruntled, perplexed Bucky Barnes. “Keep an eye on her. If something happens, contact me. I’ll be back in a few days.”

 

Just like that, Bucky was left to the remainder of his meal but, flummoxed by the last few moments, paid it no mind.

 

What the hell had just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> Do review if you enjoyed!


	3. House Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky begins to appreciate the goats through observation but notices something that will bring that Goddamn vet back to his door sooner than he wanted.

Since that fateful visit, Bucky hadn’t counted on being subconsciously drawn to that one nanny goat; the black and white one with the funny eye. The irony wasn’t lost either, a one-armed outsider having a goat with a funny eye.

 

He watched her that little bit more closely and noticed things he hadn’t before. Like how she interacted with the others, that she (unlike the others) did not make an attempt on his new fence around the vegetable garden. He noticed the little bulge she had that the others did not, how he missed it; he still wasn’t sure. Aside from all that, he learned plenty of value just by watching them as a flock.

 

Fortunately, and unfortunately for Bucky, his new-found interest in the nanny yielded another realization: She had stopped eating. And that left the White Wolf with a dilemma.

 

 _“Come on…”_ He almost pleaded, holding the stalk of a carrot aloft, one picked specially from the garden; a concession not extended to the others. _“Come on, don’t make me call her.”_ Goats are stubborn creatures and Bucky Barnes learned that the hard way.

 

Again, like every other time he desperately tried, nothing.

 

“You twisted my arm, Connie.” He uttered, defeated at last as he withdrew the communication device Shuri had given him. “You twisted it good. And I only had one good one to begin with.” A piece of paper soon followed, headed by:

 

_Dr Elsa Kincaid._

* * *

 

To her credit, and despite his sheepishness during the communication, Elsa arrived the next morning; not long after Bucky rose.

 

“Is she sluggish?”

 

“Yeah, a bit.”

 

“When did she stop eating?” He managed to keep up with her urgent step; as if she was leading him to the overnight enclosure, not the other way around.

 

“Uhh… Not last night, late the night before.” He’d had the sense to keep Connie separate from the rest, with food on hand should she change her mind. As it happened, she hadn’t, and the extra food remained untouched. “She didn’t eat with the rest, had to jump in when the others tried to eat hers.”

 

Bucky found himself under the curious scrutiny of eyes not quite as dark as his own, briefly turned from the pregnant goat. Her expression was unreadable but, on the other hand, when had Bucky ever felt it prudent to learn how to read facial expressions? He was a killer. Besides fear, what else did he need to know?

 

As it happened, he had impressed her. Mildly. He had taken her advice (maybe not to the extent of goat midwifery) and gelled with his herd; so much so, that his intuition led him to do what she would have done in a similar situation.

 

 _“Hello, darling.”_ Came the hushed, sympathetic murmur as she took to the ground beside the expectant animal, without fear of dirt or jabbing stones. _“Not feeling too well, are you? Not to worry, we’ll see to it.”_

Without the consultation of his brain, Bucky’s body remained stationary; never mind the routine morning work to be done or other animals that required tending to. He had already dismissed that niggling feeling in his gut as worry. It was just a _goat_ , after all; a creature Bucky had never really encountered before (Brooklyn was hardly a haven for farm animals), hence his minimalist experience.

 

That said… Those last few days of watching Connie and the others had been not only beneficial and educational but also appreciative. Given the chance, these animals might find a place in the heart of someone who, for many years, did not have the luxury of appreciating much. Maybe this herd was a good start. So, upon reflection, perhaps it wasn’t such a stretch for him to reluctantly acknowledge that he was starting to warm to them.

 

Which was why he was yet to leave Connie’s side.

 

“Anything?” He prompted after a few moments examining (and for Bucky, anxious) silence.

 

“Well…” One hand pressed into Connie’s bulge, and the other comfortingly stroking her chest, Elsa’s focus went unfractured by the goat’s edgy owner. “There’s movement in here, strong movement. So, that’s good. I don’t think the little one is the problem. Good girl…”

 

“Like I said…” Elsa rocked back on the balls of her feet to reclaim her (not very substantial) full height; she came somewhere to Bucky’s shoulder. “I examined everyone only a few days ago and they were fine. What are they eating? Hay?” The tiny brunette’s hip cocked to the side, mid-muse, chin seated in her palm in deep thought. “Honestly? I think she’s constipated.”

 

Maybe Bucky hadn’t been expecting that. Then again, what he _had_ been expecting, he couldn’t say either.

 

“Okay… So, what do I do?” This was alien, all of it. Seeking advice and for the preservation of someone or something that wasn’t bigger than himself.

 

“Obviously, she’s not eating so introducing fibre that way isn’t really an option. Not until her appetite picks back up, at least.” Elsa’s tongue clicked while a myriad of solutions all vied for attention in her brain; she sorted them on the basis of if they were safe for mother _and_ baby or not. Eventually, while continuously looking the speckled animal over, stance unchanged, Elsa came to her decision.

 

“I have a very mild laxative; small doses would be safe for her and the kid. Keep her separate, she’s going to need her own water source; we can introduce it that way.” Like she’d done before, Elsa crouched and collected her bag with a single swoop; righting herself brought her face to face (almost) with Bucky Barnes. “I don’t have it with me, I can bring it by later when I’m finished my rounds.”

 

Mouth folded into a thin line, Bucky simply nodded (always a man of few words) and watched Elsa’s hand move ever so gently along Connie’s back in a continuous stroke.

 

“You’re getting more comfortable with them, I see?” She began offhandedly, as a means of creating conversation when he opted to silently escort her back to the jeep; almost stopping his traipse when she half-turned. “You’re worried about her. You needn’t be, you know.” Again, no response so, the brunette took to the driver’s seat while Bucky stood loftily by.

 

“Well, Mister Barnes-“

 

“Bucky.” Elsa blinked, visibly taken aback by the random input with little context.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Bucky. My name is Bucky.”

 

Clutching the steering wheel, she tried to pick it apart but eventually, gave in to loss.

 

“But… Shuri told me your name is James.”

 

“Yeah.” Minimal as usual, but more forthcoming than normal. “But no one calls me that. Everyone calls me Bucky.” Tempted to ask this awkward hermit who “everyone” was but now caught for time, Elsa made a mental note to inquire later.

 

“I see… Well… Bucky. I’m-“

 

“Elsa. Yeah, I know.” A time saver, if a little miffing. Not that Bucky would probably have picked up on that.

 

“All the same, Bucky… It’s certainly better than our last meeting.” Perhaps Bucky had used up all his words or simply favoured yet another a wordless nod that she could only assume was agreement. Over the rumble of the engine and the crunch of the gears, she called over all of it:

 

**“I’ll drop by with those later and show you what to do!”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Do review if you enjoyed!


	4. Oats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsa returns to the farm and Bucky makes a somewhat disturbing discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4! Comin' atcha!

Bucky did not consciously wait for the rumble of the jeep over the day-to-day sounds of the farm. He carried on with his tasks like he wasn’t on edge for the vet to return.

 

He occupied himself with the habitual workings of his modest little farm: feeding, milking, baling… It suited him, the routine. Like being back in the army. Without the bellow of the drill sergeant, of course. He had traded that for bleating and baaing and, one could argue, the goats were more demanding than any drill sergeant, minus the aggression. Testament to that was Bucky’s willingness (maybe even eagerness) to do what needed to be done to get Connie well again.

 

However, his ears did prick from one of the out-buildings when the familiar vehicle roared back into earshot that evening.

 

He didn’t _drop_ what he was doing, per se; but he certainly sped up shovelling the feed into the buckets, just to be a step ahead in the morning.

 

“I’d prefer to be home before nightfall, so I can’t stay.” Direct and to the point, as she clambered out of the jeep for the second time that day, Elsa’s bag was grabbed and hoisted from the passenger seat while Bucky stood by, ready to escort her to Connie. An interesting contrast to her first visit, when he carelessly gestured to the enclosures and left her to her own devices. “How is she now?”

 

“The same. Pretty much.” Frugal with his words, as always, and Elsa discovered herself growing accustomed to it, expecting nothing else in the short time that she knew him.

 

Side by side, Bucky matched Elsa’s step; that strong, purposeful step to Connie’s holding pen. During the day, Connie re-joined the others, but Bucky managed to intercept her (with hope) at regular, random intervals to offer her food. She refused each time (much to his dejection) but he kept the water topped up, just in case. Now, she had returned to her own pen, where the food, water and bedding had been replaced not long before.

 

“Hello, sweetheart.” Elsa’s knees met the floor once more, cushioned by the same hay that kept Connie warm and comfortable. “Me again, I’m afraid. Hopefully, I’ll be of more use to you this time.”

 

“Right, bottle.” Bag open and bottle (not unlike a baby’s) withdrawn, Bucky realized Elsa no longer addressed Connie, but him; to that end, he donated his full attention. “How fresh is that water?”

 

“’Bout ten minutes before you got here.” A perfectly true statement, one that seemed to satisfy the vet.

 

“Excellent.” The soldier-turned-farmer took the bottle that was held aloft to him, while Elsa rummaged, one-handed, in her bag. “Fill that, about three quarters to the top. That should be enough for dissolving the dose.” As commanded, Bucky filled the bottle, dipping it lengthways into the trough until it came to where he needed it to be.

 

“Half a tablet.” _Plop_. “Screw on the lid. Shake till it’s dissolved, then…” Elsa sat back on her heels with an uncertain grimace, looking Connie over while the sloshing of water being shaken in the bottle became background noise. “Hope she takes it.”

 

Mercifully, Connie did take it. Better than they could have hoped for. So much so, that Bucky just about managed to hold the vessel still while she practically chomped on the nipple, even giving it the occasional frustrated shake.

 

“We needn’t have worried!” Elsa observed through the sweet chime of amusement, complete with an impish curve of her lip as she watched Bucky struggle to keep a hold of the bottle.

 

Bucky chanced a glance, what was meant to be a quick one, but found it lingering instead. Since he’d been defrosted and his assessments began, there had been very little human contact. Yes, Shuri was compassionate and friendly, but that was just Shuri.

 

On the off chance he encountered T’Challa, the king was courteous, respectful and welcoming in the same way Shuri was.

 

Okoye did not trust him; she was blatant about that. And why should she? He had come to this place, this _wonderful_ place, as a murderous bomb, one that needed to be defused.

 

They were not obligated to be kind to him, to spend time with him or to make him feel like he once did, once upon a time in Brooklyn. True, the farm was a start to some sort of normality, to leave the violence and destruction behind him, but that was the extent of it: He was on his own.

 

He had immersed himself, thrown himself in at the deep end; the city boy figuring out the goats, the self-sufficiency and the fine balance of what made a farm, a farm. Turns out, a vet is an integral part of keeping animals. But, like all of Bucky’s other limited social experiences since waking up in Wakanda, he didn’t expect much from this one. It might have been nice but… Why would she bother?

 

“I’m going to leave another tablet and a half with you.” Bucky visibly twitched, waking himself the embarrassing staring session he’d hoped he wasn’t having; if she noticed, she didn’t comment. “If she hasn’t coated the walls with excrement by morning, give her another half in three-quarters of a bottle.” Connie had finished the water, going so far as to nudge the empty bottle in protest; despite the trough being full.

 

“Just make sure you sterilize that before you use it again.” The vet went on, nodding to the bottle held limply at Bucky’s side. “Boiling water ought to do it.” Bag retrieved, and on her feet again, Elsa indulged her tiny form in a stretch; complete with retiring grumble. “And… I think I am just about ready for bed.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you live far?”

 

Maybe it was a futile venture, but the White Wolf tried all the same; even if making conversation wasn’t his strong point.

 

“Thankfully, no.” Again, they matched each other; capable step for capable step, back to the jeep. Not unlike the ones he had become accustomed to during the war, for crossing vast expanses of inhospitable land in Europe with the Howling Commandos. “Not far at all. You’re one of my closer stops, in fact.”

 

Elsa’s trusty bag landed in the passenger seat with a **_thump_** though she did not take to the driver’s seat just yet.

 

“Help me with this.” Curious, Bucky obeyed and followed further down the passenger flank to where Elsa struggled with something heavy, doubled over the topless body of the jeep. A sack.

 

“Oats.” Elsa offered, by ways of almost-breathless explanation while Bucky effortlessly hoisted the ten-kilo bag against his shoulder and supported the bottom with the crook of his only arm. “It’ll be a decent fibre boost for her when she’s eating again.” Why did he swallow when she cocked that dark, pony-tailed head to the side? Endearingly so? He could examine that later. “Just make sure you share, hmm?”

 

In a bid to distract himself from the consciousness of standing there awkwardly, Bucky averted his gaze and happened upon something else in the back seat.

 

“Nice piece.” He murmured; mouth dry with discomfort and disappointment wriggling in his chest. A rifle. A Stainless-Steel Remington 700. Fluted barrel. .223. Beautiful, yes but a touch disenchanting when paired with the plucky little vet. “You hunt?”

 

Elsa, having claimed the driver’s seat, craned her neck; to see what had caused such a seismic shift in the progress she’d made so far with the strange newcomer. Then she clocked it: the rifle.

 

“Oh. Yes, I do.” A horrible, unexpected confirmation, but when Bucky surfaced from that terrible feeling of despondency, he found himself under the scrutiny of soft blue eyes; the ones that had hardened considerably upon the discovery of the rifle.

 

“I hunt poachers.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :D  
> Do review if you enjoyed!


	5. Appointments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More tests.  
> T'Challa visits Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me!

Appointments. A fairly common occurrence in everyday life, and a rite of passage to adult life in making our own.

 

Doctors. Dentists. Opticians. Vets. All quite routine in the grand scheme of things.

 

Not so routine, however, is an appointment (one of many) to assess if a murderous programme has stayed scrubbed from your brain. With thanks to a genius teenage princess, of all people. But, like the farm and everything that went with it, it was just another ritual for Bucky Barnes.

 

However, as he approached the lab this time, something snagged him, something he was yet to come across on any of his numerous _appointments._

 

Chatter. Laughter. Banter. Light-hearted back and forth. All coming from the lab. Not only that, he knew both voices. One, of course, was Shuri; who else would be in Shuri’s lab? The other… He hadn’t heard it in a week or so, not since he had made it his business to contact her and inform her of Connie’s progress.

 

He floated in the doorway, still unnoticed; but what else was new?

 

Should he leave? Leave them to their bonding session that left him in the cold? He toyed with the idea but before he could act on it, he was clocked from within.

 

“Bucky!” Shuri spotted the shadow in the doorway and peered from her workbench to spy him, eliminating the possibility of escape like a wisp of smoke. “Come in!” Reluctantly, Bucky complied; with slow, uncertain steps into the lab he knew so well by now.

 

He could not ignore the faint smell of hot food, mostly dissipated by now, but still lingering from the discarded wrappings on the work surfaces; like lunch had been in the midst of a brainstorm. Empty cups did not lend themselves to the aroma, merely the aesthetic.

 

Only then, did Bucky spot her, leaning on another workbench; silent in her welcoming, while Shuri had been vocal. She had dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. Did it irritate him to notice it? Now was not the time to dissect it. But he’d told himself that before and never addressed it.

 

“I can come back.” He offered quietly, turning to Shuri, the one who he was here to see, purposely isolating the other dark-haired female before she could say or do something that consumed his attention span.

 

“No, no. Stay.” Elsa chipped in from behind, straightening and beginning to gather her rubbish; Bucky allowed himself a half-glance over his shoulder as she did. This time, he forced a conscious effort not to get fixated. “We were just finished… And I need to get back to work.”

 

“Proper lunch next time.” She declared playfully to Shuri, having disposed her leavings in the waste receptacle and collected her bag before adding: “At Kinsa’s.”

 

“Don’t tempt me!” The genius princess groaned, following the older woman’s example and clearing her food wrappers in a vain attempt _not_ to be distracted by one of the best food spots in Wakanda’s capital city. “Next week. Next week, it’s decided.”

 

“Same time, different place,” Elsa promised with a _touch_ of mischief as she made for the door. “Provided we can both get away from work, of course.” _That_ would be the challenge.

 

“I had planned on stopping by in the morning. Tomorrow morning.” Bucky could no longer ignore her, not when she stopped in his eye-line and addressed him directly. He had traipsed further into the lab, and Elsa had taken his hovering spot in the doorway. He watched her expression, despite himself; curious, inquisitive, endearing. “To check on the nanny. Maybe get a scan if I can? A more accurate due date?”

 

Could he pretend she hadn’t said anything to him? Just gloss past that she’d spoken to him at all? When she hadn’t done or said anything untoward to him? Quite the opposite, when she handled Connie with all the capability, sensitivity and speed of a true animal lover. Not to mention, the unsolicited touches; like the bag of oats. He hadn’t seen Connie (or any of the others, in fact), enjoy anything as much as that bag of oats. So much so, he had to begin rationing it until he could get his hand on another. And here she was again, attempting to help him prepare for another alien concept: baby animals, starting with delivery.

 

But in that horrible moment, something rang in Bucky’s head that jolted him back to reality: _You’re staring._

“Sure.” He responded immediately, managing to eject the words without the panic that bubbled in his stomach and hopeful that he had recovered himself. “I’ll be there.” Again, if she noticed, she seemed to disregard it; the gracious nod, and grimace to match, almost assured him.

 

“Sergeant Barnes, if you please.” Shuri waited at the chair, the standard chair for this exercise; with any luck, this would be the _last_ time he would ever have to sit in it.

 

* * *

 

 

Wakandan technology is an incredible thing. The small, African nation had things the rest of the world could only _dream_ of. With the means and the will, they opted to help a man, a seemingly lost cause and, had his care been left to anyone else, would have remained one. The best-case scenario for the Winter Soldier, without Wakandan intervention, was to live out the rest of his long, torturous, indefinite existence in a psychiatric hospital; according to Tony Stark, at least. Thankfully, that was no longer a reality. And no one could quite appreciate it like James Buchanan Barnes, particularly from an outsider’s point of view.

 

Bucky did not remember much after the cryostasis; the immediate recovery having been a gruelling process on his body and mind. That did not stop him appreciating it in hindsight, even as a delayed reaction, without the benefit of the revelation at the time.

 

Now, however…

 

“Sergeant Barnes.”

 

Before, his first reaction might have been to draw a weapon of some description; whatever was closest. Now, the small baling knife on his belt did not occur to him when he was approached and addressed from behind without warning in his own kitchen/living room/bedroom. Probably just as well too: T’Challa would have overpowered him in an instant.

 

“Your Highness.” All it took was an amused quirk of an ebony eyebrow for Bucky to roguishly correct himself, remembering one of the earliest stipulations when he woke from the cryostasis. The communication mostly silent, save for a few words, but clear. “If I gotta call you T’Challa, you gotta call me Bucky.”

 

“I think that is a fair trade.” T’Challa acknowledged, inclining his head with decorum befitting his royal blood but with humour ebbing to compliment it. “I regret I have not seen you as much as I would have liked since-“

 

“Since I came outta the freezer.” Bucky finished, running with the established humour and building on it; T’Challa did not disagree. “King’s are busy, I get it.”

 

“Opening Wakanda to the world requires a great deal of diplomacy, understanding and negotiation.” He agreed, inviting himself to a wicker chair, and Bucky soon followed. “Unfortunately, while I was as prepared as I could be, I was not prepared enough. There is always another new trying matter when the last one is dealt with.” Perhaps King T’Challa felt the pull of weariness with this massive, new undertaking, but it was not outweighed by the pride and contentedness that he shrugged to Bucky with. “It has never been done before, there are bound to be challenges. Once they are overcome, it will be more than worth it.”

 

“I like your optimism,” Bucky commented, reflecting the legitimacy of his statement in his tone. “I just hope the world realizes what it’s gaining in Wakanda. Like I did.”

 

“Optimism is key.” He concurred, with a reasonable grimace. “Which brings me to the purpose of my visit.”

 

T’Challa’s elbow found the table and the point of his chin sandwiched itself neatly between the pad of his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. There were so many ways to break this news, so many words he could use to impart the mammoth implications after _weeks_ and _months_ of testing and physical and mental recovery.

 

Instead, the King opted for two, simple words…

 

_“You’re cured.”_

 

Bucky’s habit of staring was new (however involuntary), and it seemed to be reserved for one person. Now though, he extended it to one more; that too, was involuntary.

 

T’Challa understood the stunned silence and astounded glower for what they were: paralysing relief, numbing disbelief and joy so deep, he dare not express it.

 

“The Winter Soldier is but a memory.” T’Challa went on gently while Bucky made some vain attempt to gather and organize every frantic thought. “However you choose to remember him, if indeed you choose to do so, is a matter only for you.”

 

 _“You’re sure?”_ Bucky choked, after a moment of marinating in stupefaction, in the guarding embrace of T’Challa’s compassionate silence; to let him process and come to terms. Of course they were sure. But that didn’t stop the corrosive niggle of doubt deep in Bucky’s chest. So much pain, so much fear, so much regret, so many sleepless nights of internal scolding for things he could never take back, undo or apologize for.

 

“Shuri is my little sister.” T’Challa began, an edge of benign teasing blending into the gentility of his tone. “Like all little sisters, Bucky, she can be a royal pain in the rear.” The digression had the intended effect, or so the hinted the flicker of a watery smile from across the table. “But Shuri is an exceptional scientist. The best in Wakanda, and probably the world. From the moment your cryostasis took effect, she dedicated every waking moment for months to figuring out how to get you out of it again.”

 

Sitting forward, the King’s eyes sought Bucky’s. This was important. To reassure and begin the next phase of healing in a broken man.

 

“Shuri, as much as she wanted to see you healed as quickly as possible, would never rush something so critical. It has taken her months of small victories and setbacks but now… After so much hope, she is overjoyed to declare you Hydra-Free. As am I.” With apparent effort, T’Challa hoisted himself from the chair; his visit to the White Wolf being considered a break from the diplomacy of adding a new country to the world map.

 

“There is another matter that requires your contemplation.” He paused, mid-tread to the door and rousing Bucky from his semi-daze. “I accept it would be a significant decision, so you are not to rush it.” Cue the curious tilt of Bucky’s head; the one T’Challa took as a prompt to continue. “Now that you are no longer a threat to anyone, what will you do?”

 

His preferred answer was easy, but (in Bucky’s still tormented mind) it might not have been possible, feasible, or acceptable. Until…

 

“You are free to return to America.” T’Challa went on offhandedly, without conviction. “Or, Romania, if you prefer.” The White Wolf found himself nodding solemnly, half-heartedly. He was right: They wanted rid of him. “But… And I speak not just for myself… Others also…” He did not elaborate on who the _others_ were. “We would rather see you remain here.”

 

Two draining revelations in one day. One hour. One sitting. And it was almost too much for Bucky.

 

 _“I wanna stay.”_ He croaked, almost suffocating on the urgency; feeling the familiar grating bite of panic attack begin to threaten. Like the good, merciful King T’Challa would snatch it all away, despite the raw plea that dripped from every word.

 

 _“I can’t go back to the States…”_ T’Challa knew this and re-traced his steps in a bid to swing into comfort mode again. For now, though, he would give the White Wolf the dignity of venting his emotions first. _“I’m a wanted man, rightly so for everything I did. The Avengers… Steve… Can’t protect me, won’t protect me… Why would they? Why **should** they?”_

_“I can’t go back to Romania.”_ He continued, shaking his shaggy head and remembering the ruins Ross’ team had reduced his safe house to. _“It might take a week or so, but I’ll be recognized, and when I am, it won’t take long. Mind control, or no mind control. Hydra or no Hydra. If they even get a sniff that I’m back in any reach, they’ll kill me.”_

“It seems then, that your choice is clear. And your preferred one at that.” T’Challa kept his tone light but encouraging, and a small smile to match while Bucky managed whatever emotions threatened to boil over in the midst of his pleading spew. “Just as well, too. I am told you are shaping into quite the goat farmer.”

The confused contortion of Bucky’s features said more than words ever could, enough to tickle T’Challa.

 

“A little Lioness told me.”

 

Remembering his manners, an extremely grateful Bucky rose and followed the royal swagger when he turned to exit the hut a second time. Bucky, having lived in the shadows for so long, never tired of the sun on his face; the closing of his eyes was not necessarily to protect them, but an obvious symptom of enjoyment, one not lost on T’Challa.

 

“Shuri would have come to break the good news to you herself but… She is busy. Party planning, you see.”

 

“Someone’s birthday?” Bucky inquired innocently, placidly as he walked the King to his transport.

 

“Of sorts,” T’Challa answered coyly, now seated, secured, but still able to communicate with the White Wolf face to face in a topless, off-road vehicle; not unlike Elsa’s. “Not so much a birthday but… A new beginning, one very worthy of celebrating.” There was that crease of confusion again, before that light-hearted clarification of:

 

“Yours.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> If you enjoyed, leave a review!


	6. Distinction is Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky compares his old life to his new one.  
> Elsa wriggles the names of the goats out of a tight-lipped farmer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me!

It may have been a surprise (a pleasant one?) to find Bucky waiting for her when the handbrake crunched, and the engine’s rumble died the next morning. It could be argued, however, that that pleasantness was one-sided. Then again… He rarely seemed to have more than one expression.

 

Nevertheless, bag in hand and jeep door slammed (to ensure the mechanism engaged properly), Elsa’s trademark stalk, one bouncing hip at a time, neared.

 

“Am I in trouble?”

 

Cue the confused crease of a face a lot older than it looked, and the subconscious shuffle of a form that carried its clocked years a lot better than most people.

 

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

 

“You were sparse with your words yesterday.” Her reply was measured, as if wary of the response; his minimal communication in the lab had not gone unnoticed. Ponytail swinging as she walked, like a pendulum that Bucky did all in his limited power not to become entranced by, she opted for diplomatic caution. “I thought it might’ve been something I said.”

 

“I didn’t think I was any less chatty than usual.” Humour? Dry humour, granted, but the curious tilt of the dark head from below his shoulder, however, mutually marked the strange landmark; had she ever heard him so comfortable? A breakthrough? As if to make up for the day previous? Much to joint and automatic surprise. “I just uhh… I guess I was kinda distracted.”

 

Bucky, as a rule, was a guarded individual. Before the war, those life-changing events, not so much. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was lively, he was outgoing, he was cocky, _flirty_ even. Very much so.  But Arnim Zola had changed all that. _Destroyed_ it. James Buchanan Barnes became a shell; a dangerous, obedient, controllable force.

 

Emotionless.

 

Enslaved.

 

Operating, not living.

 

Striving for someone else’s purpose, never his own.

 

Muzzled like a dog.

 

Blinkered like a workhorse.

 

The only, bare exception between then and his arrival in Wakanda, was Steve Rogers. That brief snatch of friendship when memories had been nurtured, and he remembered what it was to stand and fight for the _right_ thing. Steve never forgot, unlike Bucky. Steve never slaughtered the innocent, unlike Bucky. Steve never fell prey to a madman and had his entire self stripped away until there was nothing left but a killing machine. Unlike Bucky. To such a dreadful extent, that he did not recognize his best friend. That he went along mindlessly when his brother (in all but blood) became his target, helpless to do anything but comply.

 

Perhaps… It was time to re-invent that kind of friendship or something like it; after all, Steve was irreplaceable. But networking and connections would be invaluable, especially when he planned on staying. And who better to gravitate towards (other than the obvious Shuri and T’Challa) than the vet; the one who, most likely, provided the same service to other farmers that she did for him. Others, whom, he could network with through her.

 

It was nothing to do with that fact that his mouth tended to dry when he formed words meant for her, so it was easiest not to speak to her if he could manage it. It was nothing to do with wanting to look anywhere else than those captivating features in a vain bid not to be sucked in. It was nothing to do with being unable to remember (his memory was fickle at the best of times, but not with this particular topic) feeling this frustrated or helpless when it came to a member of the opposite sex.

 

There had been girls before the war, yes, but the confident and untampered Bucky took them in his stride. Flirting and roguishness had been second nature, a nature that (paired with good looks, an air of self-assurance, and his country’s proud uniform) _mostly_ got him whatever girl he set his sights on. Would that Bucky have looked past the likes of Elsa? Possibly. Khaki cargo pants, polo shirts and messy ponytails were hardly a style that might have turned the soldier’s head; despite the obvious intelligence, diligence and gentility they dressed.

 

Romania… The opposite was true for Romania. Clinging to the shadows for protection, obsessing with anonymity to survive; it meant solitary confinement with the freedom of movement. Get close to no one, become familiar to no one. He had two goals in Romania: Stay invisible. Gather everything he could on his former self. That did not leave room for socializing; romantic or not.

 

Distracted… Hardly a lie. If not distracted by the mere presence of his new _fascination_ , certainly distracted by the prospect of being cured. By the very idea of stepping into that lab, and sitting in that chair for the last time. By the finality of being rehabilitated, once and for all.

 

“And… I take it you’re feeling better?” They had arrived, the owner having been led to the overnight enclosures by the visitor; an occurrence that seemed to be gaining regularity with each visit. Neither noticed to be troubled or amused by it.

                                                                                

“Looks that way, yeah…” Getting more comfortable with longer sentences, Bucky (a far cry from Brooklyn’s most dashing soldier) allowed his gaze to lift from the thin blades of grass at his feet. To do so, was to taunt himself; to look upon someone who confused him more than she would ever know. Only to find her looking back at him, head inclined with (dare he think it) concerned intrigue.

 

“Looking is all well and good…” She replied; her air not so cautious anymore now that they had established she had not offended him. “But… How are you _feeling_?”

 

Again… Aside from T’Challa and Shuri, who would have thought to ask him that? That said, as far as Bucky knew, Elsa knew _nothing_ about him to inquire anyway. She asked in response to him declaring himself slightly off-kilter to his norm.

 

“Good.” Perhaps there was more of a _bite_ to his certainty than he would have liked but Elsa, the brazen Elsa, did not flinch; much to Bucky’s internal, invisible relief. “Good. I’m feeling good.”

 

“Glad to hear it.” She meant it too, and Bucky let himself believe it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Countdown is on!” She declared excitedly, _enchantingly_ , all the while tilting the handheld projection so Bucky could see. Whatever he was looking at, he couldn’t be sure but if it pleased her, he was sure he could play along. “About a week to go and it’ll be out with the rubber gloves and warm water.”

 

“But… I call you, right?” He tried not to stumble on the words but failed _spectacularly_ ; whether it was the stomach-emptying idea of delivering the kid himself (and really, he wouldn’t even know where to _start),_ or literally being elbow to elbow with the vet at that moment, was anyone’s guess. “I can’t… I wouldn’t…” Mid helpless stammer, Bucky hastily nodded the empty socket at his left shoulder. “I’m a little shorthanded here!”

 

The back of Elsa’s free hand crept to her mouth, delaying the indecision of whether or not to laugh at a joke that she could not be sure was intentional or not.

 

“Call me.” She replied evenly, just about maintaining neutrality. “She’ll be my priority, day or night. Until then, keep her close. She could go early, there’s no way of telling.”

 

The dark-haired vet indulged in the routine parting stroke, with the hushed, affectionate promise to see the goat again soon. It was not lost on Bucky.

 

“Have you named them?” The walk back to the jeep had started in silence but little under halfway, Elsa decided to change that. The brief flash of bewilderment in her companion’s face prompted clarity. “The goats. It might be nice to give them names.”

 

“They have names.”

 

How, Bucky couldn’t fathom, and it wasn’t for the want of trying, could she undo whatever he was trying to keep together, with a simple incline of her head or (in this case) quirk of an eyebrow? Interrogatingly (if playfully) so.

 

“What?”

 

“You can’t tell me they have names and not tell me what they are.” She declared with an amused contortion of those prepossessing features that nearly caused his knees to buckle. “Start with the pregnant one. Come on. I’m their doctor, I need to know.”

 

James Buchanan Barnes rarely knew surrender or defeat. Be it in the army under the Howling Commandos (with the trademark American pride and gusto), or as the Winter Soldier; success, whatever the cost, was almost a given.

 

And yet… This vet, this _tiny_ creature, could undermine his iron-clad resolve with no effort at all; a smile, a dimpled grimace would do. To that end and knowing enough about defeat from his collection of former foes, Bucky simply sighed and turned back towards the pasture.

 

“The pregnant one is Connie.” Starting with the pregnant one, as requested, if somewhat grudgingly. Or… Shyly? “The nearly all black one…” Elsa followed the descriptions, seeking the individual members of the herd as they were named. “Is Alice.”

 

“Alice. That’s adorable.”

 

“The sandy one, she’s Dot.” Bucky ignored the noise; that smothered squeal of utter delight from his left-hand side. “The grey one is Joyce. The dark brown one, by the tree, that’s Queenie. And the white one with the brown spots, is Bonnie.”

 

Once glance sideways was all it took for Bucky to know he had gone too far. The beam may have been hidden behind her hand, but the pull of it into her cheeks betrayed itself.

_“I shall…”_ She cleared her throat and did all in her power to ground herself under the scrutiny of the farmer’s perceived impatience. “ _Update their medical records accordingly. Distinction is important.”_ Before Bucky could roll his eyes and excuse himself to his farm work (before undertaking the baffling concept of making himself presentable for his naturalisation ceremony), the door of the jeep banged shut.

 

“Have you thought about acquiring more animals?” She asked, leaning sideways to apply her seatbelt but giving Bucky the courtesy of maintaining (crippling) eye contact.

 

“Like what?”

 

“I don’t know. Chickens? You have goats, chickens are a doddle next to goats. Nothing wrong with fresh eggs every morning, is there?” No. He had to concede to that point. Maybe it was tempting. And if he was going to farm… Surely more animals were the way to go?

 

“I like the sound of chickens.” He agreed, in a roundabout way; crossing his arm across to rest his hand his empty shoulder. “Can you do that?”

 

“Leave it with me.” The end of the helpful declaration was punctuated by the engine, protesting fiercely the disruption of its rest; such is an old vehicle. Or anything old, for that matter. “Anything else?”

 

“Yeah.” Poised and curious, Elsa waited for one-word answer. “Oats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, do leave a review!


	7. Misdiagnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is overwhelmed by the events of his naturalization ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

It was _dizzying._

The ceremony itself had been workable, at least it was quiet, save for the occasional chanting and clattering of ritualistic weaponry.

But the afterparty…? For a borderline hermit? Therein lay his problem.

All those people clamoured together in one place. The music. The food. The drink. The sheer opulence of an elite Wakandan gathering. All for him. To celebrate him. To welcome him to their private little country.

 

Bucky slunk through the crowd, the crowd that parted to gawk at the white, one-armed stranger: the newest, honorary Wakandan. A worthy recipient? Only time would tell.

 

Uncomfortable being a scandalizing understatement, Bucky did all he could to keep his head down and try to employ his skills of invisibility. They did not work.

 

There was no _one_ factor of his discomfort. Not just being the shy, reluctant centre of attention, but being _clean_ after so long of _eau de farm_ being the norm _._ Being _dressed_ in something other than his tatty, smelly work attire. Having _food_ in his belly that didn’t come from his own (for the most part) self-sustaining efforts. And the wine… He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had wine, but asking for a beer in this crowd…? Might not go down too well and standing out any more was not an option.

 

It wouldn’t make much difference anyway; the taste was all that mattered for now, inebriation wouldn’t come for hours, if at all. And he didn’t plan on staying that long to find out.

 

The traditional Wakandan garb may have hung loosely over Bucky’s chest but that did not stop the temperature climbing beneath the light, airy material; a combination of fluster and the collective body heat of everyone in the confines of the ballroom.

 

 _I need to get out._ The most pressing issue elbowed itself to his attention, a self-dictated demand that had begun to bubble since the end of the naturalisation ceremony. _I need a breather._

 

What does one call a French door in Wakanda? Were these even French doors? Their size may have contested their title. It didn’t matter just then, not to Bucky Barnes, who all but stumbled through them.

 

The breeze was a mercy; cool, gentle and soothing… Enough to put the stolen breath back in his lungs. The dark of the balcony, save for a few flaming torches, ushered him back to his comfort zone; back to quelling solitude.

 

Well… Almost.

 

_“And **I** thought it was overwhelming…” _

He should have known instantly, that accent was exclusive to one chocolate-locked female; but he squinted through the tranquillizing darkness for good measure. He needn’t have concerned himself with a visual; it didn’t match the voice anyway.

 

 _Hair down?_ Long, kinked, sprawling over her shoulders and down her back. _Mahogany? Chestnut? Umber?_

 

 _Make-up?_ Basic and natural, but there all the same.

 

 _Was that a **dress**? _Of traditional Wakandan design, as the occasion commanded, but there was no mistaking it as a _dress_.

 

“Are you alright?” Bucky had trouble processing that sympathetic grimace and the tone to match it; being so utterly flummoxed would do that to anyone. “Bucky.” The clicking of fingers rang in his ears and the slow, testing wave of a hand in front of his face forced a jerking blink. “I said, are you alright?”

 

“Yeah...” Had he the faculty for it, he might have cringed at the delay it took to force that one, rasping word out. “Just… Didn’t recognize you.”

 

Elsa said nothing; if the tiniest sniff of laughter could be called nothing. Leaning against the stone ledge of the balcony, and her glass of wine parked on the flat, it seemed Elsa already had the ideal breathing spot sought out. So, it only made sense for Bucky to join her.

 

“I suppose I had to make an effort.” She offered by means of impish explanation, punctuated by a click of her tongue. “You saw the clientele in there; my usual attire wouldn’t have cut it tonight.”

 

“I noticed that alright.” He conceded, dropping his eyes to his own glass and giving it a disinterested swirl. The small of Bucky’s back ground itself on the unwavering support of the stone barrier; a barrier separating himself and Elsa from a plunge of several floors. “I kinda got the impression I wasn’t on their wavelength.”

 

“You’re not. Neither am I. Which is why I’m out here.” Swaying forward on the palms of her hands, Elsa supported her weight against the barrier; fixated on something on the plains, as if Bucky only had half her attention. “There are no farmers in there, Bucky. No vets either. Highly specialized human surgeons, maybe. But the likes of you and I? The ones who get their hands dirty for their living? No.”

 

Unseating himself, Bucky partially mimicked Elsa’s stance; resting his stomach flush to the barrier instead of his back. His elbow supported him on the ledge, allowing him to keep a hold of his glass.

 

“You won’t be able to see them. It’s too dark and they’re too far out. But if you listen, you’ll hear them.” Still, Bucky stared ahead, but cocked his head ever so slightly in the hope of clarification. It seemed Elsa was not completely distracted to provide it. “Elephants. A herd of twenty-one. I aided the delivery of one of their calves back about four or five weeks ago.”

 

Despite having eyesight no better than Bucky’s (and really, with the Super Soldier serum, Bucky’s was probably better), Elsa gazed out into the blackness of the Wakandan plains, almost entranced by it. In turn, the White Wolf became similarly entranced; but not by elephants or the dark. There is something so inexplicably arresting in watching someone so utterly captivated by one of their own passions.

 

“I never congratulated you, by the way.” Out of nowhere, from the mutually spellbound silence, Elsa chimed, turning her head just as Bucky managed to right himself. “It’s a wonderful thing. A new start… If that’s what you’re looking for.”

 

It was just that, more than she would ever know. Not only was it a fresh start, but it was _exactly_ what he was looking for. The next challenge was what else could he add to that fresh start to sweeten it? That was a mulling session for another time.

 

Bravery had never been an obstacle for James Buchanan Barnes… Until arriving in Wakanda. Fear of pursuing a woman had never been a barrier… Until meeting Dr Elsa Kincaid. Action had never evaded him… Until the predictable paralysis that dogged every meeting.

 

“I’m sure the pomp and ceremony are the worst parts; it should be plain sailing from here-”

 

“Was yours like this?”

 

“My…? What? I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.”

 

“Your naturalization ceremony.”

 

Elsa had been keeping one eye on the plains beyond the palace, despite there being nothing to see. Her communication with Bucky had been fleeting, distracted glances; the unlikely prospect of a herd of elephants emerging from the nothingness taking precedent. Until now.

 

“Ah… No. I haven’t had one yet.” That didn’t make sense; not when (as far as he knew) Elsa had been there before him. He let it show too; having the decency to be confused and irritated on her behalf. It seemed he was the only one.

 

“But, you-“

 

“I’m still _technically_ on a two-year Nigerian visa.” Unperturbed by the perceived injustice, or rather endeared by his ill-placed grievance, Elsa treated him to that charming pull of a smile once more; the one that jolted his spine. “For the next six months. But, the late King T’Chaka…” While Elsa faltered, Bucky stayed fast; there was no guilt for that particular crime, within him or otherwise. That lay with someone else.

 

“He and Queen Ramonda insisted, _decreed_ actually, that my naturalization as a Wakandan citizen would occur the moment that visa expired.” Leaning off the balcony, as if satisfied her elephants would not make an appearance, Elsa found her glass instead. “I am free to leave, of course, but I think they knew I had no intention of leaving, and I had confided in Shuri as such. So… With any luck, I will be a Wakandan in six months’ time.”

 

“Why Nigeria?” A fair question, or at least Bucky thought so. And while it was quite a simple answer, Elsa still needed to tease it out in her mind before putting it into words. She had never voiced it before. Everyone privy to it knew it without her saying it. But now… To actually be able to articulate it, meant conveying more than _just t_ he answer.

 

 _“When I applied for this program…”_ That bewitching blue gaze dropped to her sandals, the same ones that drifted forward with the notice of one outcast, but not the other. _“I knew… Or thought I knew… What the rest of the world knew of Wakanda. One of the world’s poorest nations, primarily farmers… A tiny dust-ball of a country sandwiched between Nigeria and Niger._ _A country with **nothing.**_ ” 

 

It was Bucky’s turn to huff a laugh; if only the world knew. It was in the process of it, and processes can be slow. But until then… Bucky and Elsa shared a special secret that the rest of the planet would only scoff at until it knew better.

 

 _“A country so small and underdeveloped, that it did not even have its own visa program.”_ Another line of defence against the world, Bucky assumed. _“So… When I was selected, I had to apply to Nigeria for my visa to work legally in the country, I would be under the care of the embassy in Nigeria but my work would be over the border in Wakanda; a partnership between the two, if you like. Nigeria would provide for me where Wakanda could not, but my base of operation would be Wakanda.”_

_“Now… You can imagine my outright astonishment when I was escorted over the border, and past the confines of the dome.”_ He could imagine it alright, having experienced the same thing. Side by side against the balcony now, it was a natural transition of comfort. _“I also think… Having seen Shuri at work and what she can do… I started to believe early on that I was selected less on my abilities, while those were important too, but I think they opted for someone who was less likely to want to go back to what they’d come from.”_ Always enraptured by the little vet’s smile, Bucky felt a tear in his gut when he found this one tinged with the lightest shade of melancholy. _“That was me.”_

_“The longer I was here, the more I fell in love, and the more I fell in love, the more I wanted to protect this place. My new home. To that end, their selection process was correct. I came here, thinking I would be living in a mud hut. Being paid a basic wage by Nigeria, not Wakanda. Doing a job, for people who didn’t even speak the same language as me…”_ Bemusement had taken over the melancholy, something for Bucky to be grateful for. It hadn’t escaped his notice either, how the closeness had developed; the safer option was to think nothing of it.

_“Only to find none of that was true. And is that not the best way to ensure loyalty? Trust? Convince someone of a dire situation and they come anyway? To try and help regardless?”_

_Sounds like something Steve would say..._ Bucky thought while Elsa trailed off thoughtfully, taking a whetting sip of the wine she hadn’t touched since before she was joined.

_“Are you staying in the palace tonight?”_

 

A seemingly random question, but when Bucky dropped his eyeline to answer it, he found himself already under nervous scrutiny.

 

“Just tonight.” He replied, returning the stare with curiosity. “I wanna be back to the goats early though, don’t wanna upset their routine too much.”

 

 _“That’s sweet.”_ She commented warmly, enough for Bucky to feel it spread into his cheeks. _“So… Will you be staying up much longer? It’s getting late.”_

“I’m okay out here for now. Better out here than in there.” Elsa nodded along, as if distracted within herself; her agreement in itself seeming half-involved.

 

 _“May I ask you something?”_ Hesitant out of self-preservation and instinct, Bucky stalled. What if she asked him something about his past? His reason for being here? Something neither of them was ready for her to know? Yes, what she’d said about trust resonated with him but… _Come on._ He scolded himself from nowhere, and (hopefully) not betraying it in his face. _You want to establish yourself here. Of all people, she’s the one to do it with. Trust her._

That was all he needed. The tilt of a shaggy head pressed her on with this renewed conviction, his expression creased with intrigue saying enough.

 

 _“This may come across as strange but do bear with me…”_ If eye contact could have intensified, the folding of her lips into each other, a trademark of apprehension if ever there was one, would have doubled it. _“Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?”_

With each second that ate into that stunned silence, Elsa’s enchanting features fell a little more; the lack of an answer or action driving in a stubborn wedge of self-doubt. Dolefully, but hopefully, her heightened eyes were held by an increasing hardness in Bucky’s air. Jaw clenched, eyebrows knitted, and nostrils flared, he managed to set his glass down on the ledge without breaking the stem.

 

 _“Bucky?”_ He ignored the petrified, humiliated squeak and straightened himself to his fuller, more imposing height. Not that he did anything with it. In fact, what he _did_ do was far more crushing than anything he could have said with aggression or done with violence.  

 

 _“Bucky…”_ Elsa’s breath had shortened, the pleading word forced out, still with a taste of helpless incomprehension. But it couldn’t have been clearer when he turned his back in favour of the “French” doors, back to the suffocating restriction of the ballroom.  

 

 ** _“Bucky!”_** One last, frantic, strangled attempt that did not make it to the door before it slammed with enough force for the glass panes to rattle in their slots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be with you in due course!  
> If you enjoyed this one, do leave a review! :D


	8. Clouded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky stews in his own vile thoughts following his naturalization ceremony. But is he right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

In the days that followed his naturalization ceremony, Bucky thought of nothing else.

 

Her. She was the only thing clouding his head while everything else (the goats included) received an autopiloted response.

 

When the thoughts receded (it happened occasionally), he was able to reflect; reflect on what made him walk away. When he reflected… The anger, the pain, the hurt, the embarrassment, all flared again; simultaneous and merciless. He had created his own vicious cycle, private and exclusive, tailored to his own tormented mentality. As if it hadn’t been bad enough before, the events of the ceremony (that should have been a joyous affair, the new start he had been promised) played havoc with his already delicate disposition.

 

In his almost hundred years, Bucky had been tortured, maimed, abused… He had been rejected too (it had been known to happen once or twice, the name Peggy Carter sprung to mind), he was not immune to that either.

 

There had been a difference though, from what he could pluck from his distorted memory. In the tavern that night, Peggy hadn’t callously brushed him aside and strode away in temper; her pride hurt by the very thought of interest. Bucky couldn’t recall being so utterly crushed and uncomprehending of being left there without a word, only fury drenched silence. He didn’t think he had tried to call Peggy back; not once, twice or three times. Certainly not on the cracking verge of tears.

 

_Why?_

It was part of the cycle, that horrible cycle of his own design; the _why._

_Why would she toy with me like that? Why would she lead me on, or try to?_

 

Christ, he’d never felt a vulnerability like it. Finding someone so outstanding, as close to perfect as his life experience had taught him, that had awakened things a near-hundred-year-old man probably should not be feeling. Did that mean he was going to _do_ anything about it? Pursue her? Absolutely not, and for this very contentious reason. If he did, rejection was a certainty, so surely it made sense to reject her wicked, insincere tactics first?

 

Had Elsa never broached it, Bucky could contend with watching dolefully from afar, dealing with her when he had to and try not to make a fool of himself in the process. He could grit his teeth and look away when she laughed or smiled or stroked the goats and tenderly reassured them during an examination. He could be grateful when she brought oats and medicine, or when she dropped everything and trundled the plains to see to an emergency. He could ignore everything, pretend it didn’t exist, live in denial and smother whatever sparks of yearning that she unwittingly tended to stoke whenever she was around.

 

What he could _not_ do, **_would not_** do, was lay out feelings only to have them scoffed and laughed at.

 

And why would she do anything else? There was no comparison between them. Elsa was above him, in every single way. She came from money, she came from breeding, she came from opportunity and advantages he never had; he could smell it on her, even if she never admitted it.

 

Bucky… He did not. He came from neither money, nor breeding. A working-class kid from Brooklyn, who jumped at the opportunity to serve his country. His only advantages were being strong, bold and charismatic enough to make his own opportunities.

 

Elsa… was beautiful. She was intelligent. She was educated. She had an accent and a swagger that _definitely_ would have turned heads in Brooklyn. Even Bucky’s, having seen what he’d seen a few nights previous. Hell, had Brooklyn Bucky seen that, his pursuit would have been tireless, just to take her dancing. Her proud stubbornness would have made the challenge all the sweeter.

 

Two different worlds, two different generations, two different time stamps.

 

 _Because…_ It was always the same snide reminder that he circled back to, the same gut-wrenching feeling of inadequacy and insecurity. That horrible voice sounding suspiciously like the dreaded sneer of Arnim Zola.

 

_What would someone like_ **_her_ ** _want with someone like_ **_you_ ** _?_

Bucky, in his vexation (which seemed to be spanning days), distractedly knee’d his way through his beloved flock; an action that normally (if it ever occurred at all) would have sent him stumbling to apologize to each of “his girls” individually. Whether he realized it or not, that was another remnant of Elsa’s influence: his adopted appreciation of the herd.

 

 _To laugh at you?_ The taunt continued, driving him to be overzealous with the pitchfork and hay; much to the disgust of Joyce, who was nearly clipped by the handle. _The dirty, smelly, one-armed farmer? Old enough to be her grandfather? What can you give her? Other than fleas? You were right to walk away, you know. Better to step away than have your heart stepped on, no? Rip it out and give it to her, only to have it thrown back at you? Yes… Better. Beat that ruthless bitch at her own game._

So immersed in his own self-injected poison, and the task at hand (that he carried out with unnecessary hostility), Bucky was delayed in his realization.

 

The flock had already shown their displeasure with his aggressive over-handling, too pre-occupied he paid them little heed. But had he not been so taken up with the internal simmer, it might have hit him sooner. As it turns out, it took something to him alright: Bonnie.

 

 **“What the… _Hell?!”_** Bucky’s right knee collapsed into the dirt at the sheer _force_ of Bonnie’s head colliding with the back of his calf. The pain was mild, but it might have dizzied a lesser man; or someone who had not been subjected to Super Soldier serum.

 

Chin twisted to his shoulder, he saw Bonnie skitter away, only to turn back; as if to ram him again. But Bonnie had other concerns, and only then did Bucky see it; when she returned to the clamour around Connie.

 

 _“Oh no…”_ The groan had nothing to do with pain, but dread. Scrambling off his throbbing knee, Bucky dropped the pitchfork and fumbled with his com device; the technology still evaded him to a degree but now, urgency dictated.

 

He had already thought about this; he had made a special allowance in his seething for it. What he would do when the time for Connie’s labour came.

 

“I need a vet.” He told the unfamiliar face in his palm, instead of contacting the most obvious choice directly. “It’s an emergency.”

 

* * *

 

 

Despite an abundance of negativity and resentment that had been to attached to Elsa in the past few days, Bucky still obeyed the helpful tips and instructions she’d left before the naturalization ceremony.

 

“The signs are general.” He remembered her saying, her voice causing a flare in his nostrils as he recalled it but the information itself taking precedent. “She might display all of them, some of them, or none of them. All does are different.” Pawing the ground… That was one, there it was: Connie trying to make a nest for her baby in the dirt. Laying down, getting up, laying down again, getting up again… Once a “nest” was pawed to Connie’s satisfaction, she would lay down, stay there for a moment, then get up again to repeat the process elsewhere when she was no longer comfortable.

 

 _This isn’t about her._ He’d convinced himself as he speared fresh straw into the clean, pre-prepared “birthing stall” and arranged it in such a way that it resembled a mattress. _This is about Connie._

His biggest challenge, with his only hand wrapped around Connie’s collar, was getting her away from the rest of the flock. The irritated, anxious flock. The flock that could possibly take a leaf out of Bonnie’s book and butt him for interfering; open to further attack by walking in a stoop.

 

 _“C’mon, girl… Good girl…”_ All the way to the birthing stall, Connie’s little whinnies of discomfort and worry niggled at him; another sign. _“It’s okay. It’s okay. I know. Someone’s on their way.”_

With Connie settled in the birthing stall, Bucky opted to busy himself instead of looking at the s _ource of the problem_ with more of Elsa’s advice.

 

“Have equipment ready. Being prepared is half the battle.” Empty feed bags, old towels, antibacterial scrub… Just as Bucky was testing the flashlight, his ears pricked. _An engine._ Hence his hurried exit from the shed.

It was typical of his luck, a sadistic turning of the universe just to spite him.

 

_Oh hell…_

Elsa. Jostling in the driver’s seat, her haste unhindered by the resistance of the landscape; the old and battered but hardy topless jeep making short work of the bumps guarding the farm. Just as quickly, the engine was extinguished, the handbrake yanked up, bag grabbed, and door slammed.

 

She knew where to go and what to do, she did it with speed and her usual confident tread. Save, of course, for the dented falter in her brisk, trademark swagger when she slunk past Bucky; eyes down and radiating humiliation. Her first spoken words were not for him.

 

 _“Hello, sweetheart.”_ The straw acted as more than a cushion for the labouring Connie, but as a buffer between Elsa’s knees and the floor. _“Let me have a look, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”_

Bucky, for all his bile over the past few days, lingered in the doorway; watching every caring move and listening to every reassuring word. He blamed his lofty immobility on his concern for his goat.

 

 _“All looks good back here…”_ Elsa, either by her profession, sex or both, was not shy when it came to assessing Connie and if all was progressing as it should. _“Push when you’re ready, darling.”_ Bag at the ready to catch the by-products of the labour, towels nearby, and her own flashlight to hand, Elsa had thrown herself in head-first. _“Only when you’re ready, now. Not before.”_

* * *

 

Blood. Gore. Ear-shattering shrieks. The _smell…_ It didn’t bother the Winter Soldier; he had inflicted enough of it.

 

Bucky Barnes though… He had to leave the birthing stall. But he did so safe in the knowledge that Connie was in good hands. Up until (silently) excusing himself, they did not interact; she went about the delicate process alone while Bucky watched from afar. Perhaps hoping for another vet had been the wrong cause of action, but one that was righted for him by an invisible force. She knew Connie, Connie knew her, and that connection, that _trust,_ was crucial in such a critical time; even if Bucky didn’t see it at the time, blinded by his own vexation.

 

When the agony-driven bleating stopped, Bucky hesitated. No matter how well the labour went, he would still have the cripplingly awkward exchange with the vet. Thankfully, he was not given time to prepare for it, and therefore overthink it.

“A strong, healthy baby boy.” Came the emerging sigh, drained and tired, from the threshold of the shed. Bucky half-turned, dubious of engagement, but anxious for information all the same; she gave it without prompting, (kindly) making his input minimal. “She’s cleaned up and eating. I’ve unblocked her teats and the little fellow is standing and nursing. It went as well as it possibly could have.”

 

The White Wolf found himself nodding, eyes averted to the ground and jaw clenched. But, bitterness aside, she deserved _some_ sliver of recognition.

 

“Thank you.” Stiff but sincere, Bucky’s old standoffishness had resurfaced; much to the guilty disappointment of those striking features when he finally _did_ bring himself to lift his stony gaze. The silence was _agonizing_ , awkward would have been a drastic improvement, and even though Elsa’s sapphires had drifted elsewhere, Bucky (to his own internal annoyance) could look nowhere else. Until…

 

“I… Would like to apologize. For the other night.” If that didn’t bowl Bucky into a dumbfounded stupor, nothing would. Thankfully, he managed to save face and remained coldly stoic, while Elsa went about her modest, unsolicited apology.

 

“I… made advances that I had no business making. I understand those advances made you uncomfortable, and for that, I would like to apologize unreservedly. It was not my intention to upset you.” Fascinated and stunned, Bucky let her continue her shameful spew; not that he would have had the words to interject anyway.

 

“I thought I was taking a cue from some of our previous interactions, but I see now that I was mistaken. I suppose… I felt it best to act on those… _inclinations_ … in a more relaxed, and less professional environment-“ So… She had planned on it? “It was a poor choice to ask at all, and I will not blame my actions on alcohol either. I’m a big girl, I know it was wrong, inebriated or otherwise.”

 

In Brooklyn, an apology consisted of a grudging or sly “ _Sorry”,_ but it seemed to mean something else where Elsa came from. Bucky turned the words, the explanations, over in his head. The possibilities began to unravel that _maybe t_ he mistake was his. Maybe _he_ was the one who had read everything wrong. Maybe _he_ was the one who acted inappropriately. Maybe, just maybe, _he w_ as the one who owed _her_ an apology. With those revelations, internal panic started to crackle. Panic… and petrifying relief.

 

Elsa, though… Her mortification and sincerity were clear; in her voice, her face and her body language, but she just _kept talking._

 

“I also understand if you would prefer a different vet from now on.” The panic started to bubble over, but typically, like every other time he was faced with her, Bucky could do nothing. “I only came because dispatch sent me when there was no one else in the area.” And just like that: it was over. She turned, without so much as a glance at the dumbstruck Bucky and headed back to the jeep; bag dangling loosely from her right hand.

 

However, when she stopped dead after a few paces, perhaps Bucky wasn’t the only one having a change of heart.

 

 **“Actually… No.”** Despite the heavy, work-worn boots, Elsa’s pivot on her toe was neat, nimble and made Bucky swallow. He’d seen her brazen, of course, the day they met; but that had had a certain diplomacy about it. This was _venom._ **“I don’t. I’m not sorry. I retract that apology.”** Closing the distance at a terrifying rate, with the vigorous, proud stride that always left him reeling, Bucky found himself unable to move. In that, she was on him in no time. Not quite face to face or nose to nose, the height difference saw to that, but close enough for her to make her displeasure known.

 

 **“All I did was read the signs _YOU_ gave me and acted upon them!” **Bucky, poor Bucky, couldn’t even defend himself from the mislead tirade. _What the hell is she talking about?_ **“Was it just a joke?! A horrible lead on?!”**

**“You wanna talk about a joke or lead on?!”** He fired back, finally finding his voice after being pushed to the limit by baseless accusations. **“What about you, huh?!”** The challenge sparked a steeling in Elsa's spine, but Bucky was too far gone to back down. The foaming frustration was at least mutual. **“What would you’d’ve done if I'd said yes?!”** Naturally, outraged incredulity ensued.

**“I would have kissed you!!”**

**“Why?!”**

**“What do you mean: WHY?! What kind of bloody question is that?!”**

**“Spell it out for the dumb American! What about THIS-"** Vehement in the gesturing of his only hand up and down his farm-filthy torso, Bucky refused to acknowledge the obvious. **“Gets your motor running?!”**

**“Oh, for heaven's sake! Because I've been _trying_ to flirt with you since I met you, and obviously failing SPECTACULARLY if you couldn't even see it!!” **

That couldn’t be. Bucky had been the most prominent flirt in Brooklyn before shipping out, he knew flirting. Or did he? Had flirting changed that much in what, seventy? Eighty years? Or… Maybe she was _that_ bad at it. It appeared they had reached an impasse; a speechless, taken aback (on both sides) impasse.

 

And just then, Bucky couldn't take anymore.

 

Instead of enduring the double-sided, helpless, simmering silence any longer, Bucky (swiftly, and without thinking) imposed his height, thrust his head forward and down (albeit somewhat clumsily but being out of practice would carry such consequences); managing to somehow land his lips on Elsa’s.

 

_What do I do now?_

Eyes open, lungs frozen, every muscle refusing to move; it looked like Brooklyn Bucky had abandoned him.

 

Thankfully, Elsa took over, far more eloquently. Letting it linger a little longer, taking the force out of it with the barest peck before gently releasing him, the little vet’s lips coiled into each other (as if to taste it); complete with enchanting surprise, of course.

 

“You did that.”

 

Shaken, Bucky couldn’t deny it. Even if the only inkling was the quiver in his breath.

“Not me.”

Petrified to fixate on her but just as much to look away, his vulnerability had hit new, alarming heights. Here it was, out in the open, available for scrutiny, bared for all to see. Now all he could do was wait with bated breath for his worst fears to become reality, for Elsa to do what she wished with his raw emotions; to toss them into the dirt and twist them under her steel-toe cap.

 

Strangely, she didn’t do that. While Bucky may have had to bend to reach her, the opposite was true for Elsa; springing herself onto her tippy toes to claim Bucky’s lips with her own. She did so with the utmost gentility, respect and even though it was little more than another lasting peck, it gave him the opportunity to decipher his own reactions.

 

When they peeled apart for the second time, Bucky found himself under the endearing watch of timid expectancy; almost fearful of the same thing that had plagued him.

 

No hindrances.

 

No fear.

 

No shared dread of rejection.

 

Just pure reassurance, back and forth, in that third kiss, that neither could attest to who had started it. Bucky assumed she would have told him if she was uncomfortable with his arm draped across her waist. Just as Elsa would have sheepishly relinquished her arms from his neck if he requested it. So far, both seemed contented with the touches that kept the other close.

 

 _“As much as I’d love to stay and perfect this…”_ Elsa breathed, having reluctantly pried herself away but lining the bridge of her nose with Bucky’s in a bid to preserve _whatever it was. “I have other farms I need to get to. Other visits I’m due at…”_ Just as Bucky hesitantly released her, she stole one more kiss for good measure; one for the road, as it were. _“But I think this one is my favourite.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	9. Tambasi Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stranger circumstances get stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me!

“Now all you have to do…” With the kid’s chin cupped in her palms, Elsa couldn’t resist pressing an adoring kiss to his little forehead; a post-examination (and bonding) parting. “Is name him.”

 

Bucky stood back and observed the kid’s examination in the same way he had observed his birth: from a safe distance. It had been mind-numbing, watching the jeep pull up later that evening, only to have his wait of several hours rewarded by her returning presence. More to the point, that there was nothing to fear, not anymore with everything out in the open and reciprocated to its fullest extent.

 

“You’re obsessed with names.” Bucky kept close pace with the vet as he escorted her from the shed, once she was satisfied both mother and baby were doing well.

 

“You had the girls named before I asked.” She pointed out, playfully coy, and for once, Bucky didn’t scold himself for being openly enamoured. “He’s going to be an absolute handful; you’re going to have tremendous fun with him.”

 

“I don’t know what to do with a baby goat.” The aimless saunter in the general direction of the jeep was little more than that: a direction. Neither had the intention of saying goodbye to the other just yet.

 

“You didn’t know what to do with a flock either, but you learned.” A point he could not argue with but before he could even try, Elsa railroaded his train of thought. “Was it Bonnie who butted your leg?” Forehead creased in blatant confusion, Bucky had to concede to stupefaction; and it was nothing to do with the tilt of a chocolate head that knocked the air from his lungs anyway. But what did Bonnie have to do with anything?

 

“Yeah?” He admitted, unashamed of the curiosity in his tone as they sauntered side by side, and the fact that he had been attacked by his own goat. She had a noble purpose, to be fair. “Why?”

 

“He has an exceptional mother.” Elsa offered, accidentally on purpose letting her hand brush the farm-calloused one swinging at Bucky’s side. “I doubt he’s her first kid, she seems to know exactly what to do. And a flock of wonderful aunts; related or not. They’ll show him his place and keep him in line; he’ll be just fine.” The White Wolf glanced downwards, just in time to see the amusement in her features that made his stomach lurch. “If Bonnie has anything to do with it, at least.”

 

“What does anybody name a baby goat anyway?”

 

“Well…” Elsa chewed on the same amusement, much to Bucky’s renewed curiosity. ““Bucky” is a fairly common name for, you guessed it, a buck…” Cracking a barely restrained grimace, Bucky could see where this was going. “But I think that name might be taken around here…” The humour became infectious; the mutual, tickled titters exchanged with another utterly besotted sidelong glance.

 

“Speaking of “keeping”…” Elsa’s meander slowed to half of its already leisurely pace, before ceasing it altogether and turning to face him; Bucky followed suit. “I tracked down some chickens. I was going to bring them as a peace offering but… I believe we’ve already worked that out.”

 

An understatement that pulled the White Wolf’s cheeks upwards; the joy of it all the sweeter with the strife of the past few days behind them. Not to mention, of course, being able to express himself (even in his own stoic, dry way) without the internal barrage of limited self-worth. Not when she confirmed it: She felt the same way. The reasoning didn’t matter; he believed her frustrated explosion was as painful as his, and just as heartfelt.

 

“Yeah, you could say that.”

 

“So… In the spirit of our… _reconciliation…_ ” Trust her to put words on it that Bucky wouldn’t even _think_ of. “I suppose it only natural that we should do something about what led us to it in the first place.” Bucky bit the inside of his cheek, the humour blatant now.

 

“Is that your funny, fancy way of asking me on a date?”

 

“That depends.” She declared haughtily, with impish undertones; enough to automatically rouse dread in the stipulation. “Are you saying yes?” Amusement (and relief): Replenished.

 

“I thought I was supposed to do that?” In 1930s and 40s Brooklyn, the fellas did the chasing. But this was not Brooklyn, nor the 1930s or 40s. And Elsa was not typical of the giggly, butterfly-lashed girls he would approach in a dancehall. No, Elsa was a whole different breed of independent, brazen and proud; and Bucky _loved it._

 

“Ah, but you didn’t, did you? I got there first.” He couldn’t dispute that. She, this little vet that came to below his shoulder, had more nerve than the Winter Soldier and the White Wolf combined. Not that the danger had been physical, but potentially worse. Mental and emotional, where Bucky couldn’t afford any more damage.

 

“Alright.” He conceded, puckishly resigned as the butterflies of progress beat hard in his ribcage. “Alright. Fine. You win.”

 

“Excellent.” Ordinarily, Bucky hated cocky; despite personifying it himself on more than one occasion. But there was _something else_ in the bubbly, flirtatious bounce of the ponytail that made him not mind so much. Or at all.

 

“Perhaps… Tomorrow?” Bucky found himself nodding, fascinated (and allowing himself to be) by the shy, coy overhaul in Elsa’s demeanour, now that she had what she wanted. “I would suggest tonight but… Just in case Connie or the little fellow need anything. It wouldn’t do for there to be no one around.” So, he would have to wait. But for the benefit of the new arrival. If that wasn’t the purest of intentions on her part…

 

“Have you ever been to the Tambasi Market?” Bucky blinked, the bewilderment obvious, so Elsa took it in the negative. “It happens at sundown, on the last Saturday of every month. There’s music, food, market stalls, dancing…” And that, Bucky decided, was as good a start as any.

 

“Never been but uhh… Yeah. Sounds like my kinda night.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sundown. The following evening. 

Bucky tried to smooth the uncooperative, sticky-uppy strands at the top of his head in a grime-murky mirror; something that had not agitated him so in a _long_ time. Those pieces were microscopic, unnoticeable, irrelevant; but magnified by his anxiety, they seemed more prominent. It escaped him that Elsa didn’t care; or implied it when she claimed her flirting had originated at their first meeting and went from there, when he was hardly concerned with his appearance.

 

While petrified ears strained for the jeep, the White Wolf tried to smother the nerves bursting in his chest and stomach, but to little avail.

 

 _What if she doesn't come?_ One of his favourite torments as he tried to wipe dirt from his face that wasn’t there. _What if she changes her mind? Maybe it'd be better if she didn't. Save us both the embarrassment..._

But it wasn’t long before that craved sound put him out of his misery. With the goats fed, watered and put away for the evening, Bucky was, as he’d promised that afternoon when she came to check on Connie and the kid, ready to go.

The rumble of the jeep was Bucky’s cue to gather his jacket (there tended to be a prickle of cold at night-time) and some funds to get him through the evening before leaving his modest, open-plan dwelling.

 

“Ready?” She chirped, excited, as she pulled up in her usual spot; the same as on every other visit. “Should take about half an hour. Everything will be in full swing when we get there.”

 

* * *

 

 

Perhaps it wasn’t the most romantic of outings or settings, but the low, stone wall by the vendors suited the rugged pair better than a dining table in any restaurant. The lighting from the multicoloured paper lanterns strung along the street might not have been the most flattering, but flattering was hardly their priority; as they had proved time and time again. That said, the smell of street food, the mixture of tantalizing aromas, certainly beat the smell of the farm. Did the music from the street band outstrip the baying of the goats? Bucky wasn’t really listening, far too preoccupied with something (or someone) else.

 

“I know you’re American.” Bucky didn’t pause his chew, not when the closest thing he could find to a hot dog was so _delicious_ ; juicy, hot, seasoned with spices he’d never tasted before (and nowhere near as processed). “But after that, I don’t know much about you.” Having paused before she could take her own bite, Elsa was not shy about her curiosity. “Where do you call home?”

 

“Brooklyn.” Maybe Bucky wasn’t as gracious with his street food etiquette, or any etiquette when he answered with his mouth full. “New York.”

_“Hmm…”_ With infinitely more decorum in her eating, Elsa’s hum of intrigue bought her time until she swallowed. “I’m surprised. Your accent is quite… mild.”

 

“Haven’t been back in a while.” Bucky chose his words with care as he poked through a carton of fried rice with a wooden fork; technically, he spoke the truth, but the circumstances left an awful lot to be desired. “Been around. Doin’ this and that. Spent a lot of time in Europe.” He hesitated but masked it with his chewing before adding: “And Russia.”

 

“Well travelled then.” Elsa chimed, semi-immersed in her own food and Bucky didn’t sense that she intended to pry too much; polite inquiry and interest were commonplace on a date. But just to be safe…

 

“Don’t have to guess too hard to figure out where you’re from.” Deciding to trust her was one thing, but when it came to parting with information that could make or break the fantasies in his head, the ones that had very much the potential to become reality… That made him doubletake in panic. Hence the partial change in subject. “Since we’re talking about accents.”

 

 _“That obvious, is it?”_ With ribbons of musical laughter threaded through, Elsa paused her forkful and Bucky did the same; he would not permit himself to miss that wonderfully warming spectacle. Laughter petering out but not offended in the slightest, Elsa took a sip from her can, cleared her throat and heightened that heart-stopping gaze to Bucky’s. “Have you ever been?”

 

“Once or twice.” He replied guardingly, a half-truth of course, complete with a distracting shovel of rice between his lips and the slipping of his eyes from hers. _And I can never undo what I did while I was there._ Naturally, in his fifty-year stint as the Winter Soldier, one of the world’s most elusive and deadly assassins, Bucky grimly acknowledged spending time in Elsa’s homeland on one mission or another; for one target or another.

 

“While in the army?” Stiffening suddenly, Bucky’s relaxation, comfort and enjoyment shattered. The lack of accusation, suspicion or displeasure did not register; or the fact that her tone had not changed at all from airy, gentle interest.

_“How’d you know I was in the army?”_ Beating back the urge to become defensive, the White Wolf took a shaky swallow from his own can; all the while resisting the impulse to look upon the expected disdain in Elsa’s bewitching features. However, had he done so; he would have found no such disdain.

 

Was this it? His exposure? His age, his past, his secrets? All about to be unceremoniously spewed among the unwitting patrons of the Tambasi Market? _I didn’t want this…_ He fret to himself; head down and expression borderline pained. _I wanted time to explain. Somewhere quiet where there wouldn’t be a scene…_

 

Elsa, on the other hand, couldn’t account for why Bucky’s mood had sunk for seemingly no reason. They were, as far as she could tell, getting on exceptionally well. Laughing, smiling teasing; even if he did so in his usual fashion of few words and reserved demeanour.

 

“I heard Shuri call you Sergeant.” She answered, curiously bewildered but cautious all the same; wary of crossing a line or touching a nerve. “In the lab? Before your naturalization?”

 

And in that moment, relief blossomed for James Buchanan Barnes. Relief and an internal cringing so severe it wrung his gut like a wet cloth. Yes… Shuri had called him Sergeant, and perhaps Elsa hadn’t _quite_ left the lab when she did.

 

“Yeah, while I was in the army.” Another half-truth but easier than a full one. Feeling safer in himself, Bucky chanced a look, only to be met with the usual breath-taking endearment; perhaps with an extra shade of flirty provocation.

 

“My rifle-?”

 

“Used something similar before. Slightly different use to yours though.”

 

“I can imagine.” Bucky indulged in a soft chuckle at the moderated amusement, punctuated by another sip from her can. “Mine tends to blow out tyres on trophy jeeps from across the border. Illegal strays, of course.”

 

“Of course.” He parroted, engrossed in the shared humour on a (somewhat) dark topic. Comfort and enjoyment replenished, Bucky sat back and immersed himself in the comings and goings of the market; the street performers in their immediate vicinity especially. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea for a first date. As intimate as they wanted but with enough distractions in case it didn’t go as planned… Thankfully, that was not the eventuality and it was unlikely to be their last outing to the Tambasi Market.

 

“Okay, now let _me_ ask _you_ something.” Can paused in attention and eyebrows raised to her forehead, Elsa’s chewing continued but ladylike, she waited to be addressed. With something akin to a mischievous glance behind, there was a flare of Brooklyn Bucky stirring where he hadn’t stirred in quite some time. And why wouldn’t he in the company of an incredible woman? The same one he returned his heed to now; brimming, beaming and confident. “Dance with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Do leave a comment if you did!


	10. Laid Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a bid to further his relationship with the vet, Bucky must come to terms with trusting her with the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: As you may have noticed, the rating has been changed from Teen to Mature.

In the week that followed Tambasi Market, Elsa’s personal visits to the farm far outstripped her professional ones. Almost every day, in fact; bar one when a call kept her past nightfall.

 

Maybe, just _maybe,_ Bucky contemplated offering her his bed for the night, to save her travelling the full way home but, upon reflection, the gesture could have easily been taken out of context. And why damage progress with a potential misunderstanding?

 

Unfortunately, Bucky reverted to internal suffering that evening, where his brain snidely suggested that she didn’t want to see him; that her absence was nothing to do with a complicated birth twenty miles south of the farm. However, that doubt evaporated when, to her credit, she turned up the next morning with breakfast as an apology.

 

Would it have inspired murmurs among the neighbours for the little vet to be seen leaving his plot early in the morning? With a long, parting kiss before she took to the driver’s seat? And another before she took off? Perhaps. Did Bucky care? When it was truly innocent? Not particularly. It was just breakfast. But it got Bucky thinking. When the _inevitable_ happened (and he didn’t know _when_ that would be, his mother raised a gentleman, after all), what would he do? As it turned out, he would have to scrape together an answer sooner than expected.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Will I see you tomorrow?”_

_“I have every intention of it. If the animals cooperate.”_

It wasn't unusual for Bucky to laugh anymore. Or smile. In his own, restrained way, perhaps, but all the same, it was a massive improvement on his habitually stark self. He did both just then; tittering softly at the idea of the animals deciding if he could see his _friend_ or not and allowing the pull of a grin at the thought of reunion; even if half of it was hidden in her hair.

 

_“God, I wish you didn’t have to go…”_

When Elsa’s arms slid from his middle and her stance changed against his, Bucky guessed he had crossed the line he had feared crossing.

 

_That’s it. I’ve gone and done it now…_

However, when the White Wolf heaved his sigh and folded his lips into a pained grimace to face the inevitable berating for ungentlemanly conduct (and he could only assume “gentlemanly conduct” was high on her list of priorities in a partner), he found something else instead. The contemplative tilt of a dark head and the mulling gaze that would not be easily separated from his.

 

Still, Bucky waited to be told that she didn’t want to see him anymore, that his insinuation was despicable, that she expected more from him. But instead…

 

_“What if I didn’t?”_

* * *

 

James Buchanan Barnes did not remember much about passion.

 

His exhausted mind could tell you all about pain, torment, struggle and fear. But _passion_ … Passion had taken a back seat to survival, slaughter (through no fault or choice of his own) and a desperate search for the self that had been taken from him. To even _think_ about a woman would be nothing but a distraction.

 

Now… He had nothing but that glorious distraction. Nothing and no one to distract him from the distraction. Only her.

 

Bucky’s consciousness did not stretch to if his bed was clean or tidy. If his day of farm work left an awful lot to be desired in hygiene or odour. If his arm (or lack thereof) would put her off. If she _really_ wanted this as much as he did. But by the way clothes hit the floor (even in their flurry, she still helped him with his) and how one set of lips could not be parted from the other for long, it appeared those reservations were not on Elsa’s radar either.

 

He revelled in her enthusiasm, enraptured by the flirtatious giggle when he lifted her to reclaim her lips (not unlike the ten-kilo bag of oats he had lifted without much effort). Her responses and eagerness, like her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, were spurring and driving… So it made little sense for _Bucky_ to be the one to stop; much to Elsa’s puzzled and concerned curiosity.

 

_“Are you alright?”_

_“Yeah…”_ He answered weakly, tipping his head back against the wall, her weight having no bearing on his torso. _“It’s just uhh… It’s been a long time.”_ Not a lie but one **hell** of an understatement.

_“Me too.”_ She offered, with a sweet, encouraging grimace; the extent clearly unfathomed. _“If you’d rather we waited, we can-“_

Elsa was not cut off by anything Bucky said, but rather, the wordless (and gentle) action of setting her down, skirting meekly around her and assuming a pace in the limited floor space. A pace that, dare she think it, screamed anxiety.

 

 _“Would you prefer if I left?”_ Fearing regression and rejection (despite the initiation being something of a joint effort), how could she not feel a tad vulnerable, standing in her underwear in the open-plan hut? Bucky had stopped pacing and opted for the more relaxed position of sitting on the bed, elbow supported by his thigh and forehead cradled in his only hand; arguably, that stance held as much stress as the pacing.

 

 _“No...”_ Fingers knotting into his hair, the White Wolf could feel the radiation of incomprehension from the little vet; the one he wanted to spare all of this. But… If he wanted her, like she apparently wanted him, there had to be openness. There had to be transparency. There had to be honesty. _“No. But maybe you should get dressed anyway. You’re gonna wanna leave after you hear this.”_

* * *

 

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes.” As good an opening as any? The pair had swapped; Elsa (having disregarded the warning of getting dressed) replacing Bucky on the bed, while the niggling temptation to resume his near-frantic pacing almost won out. Wetting his lips, it seemed like the most obvious and basic thing. She already knew it, of course, but for Bucky’s own sake, if he started small, upping the ante might come that bit easier. “I was born in Brooklyn, New York, on March 10th…” After a bite of hesitation, Bucky reluctantly added: “1917.”

 

It took a moment of processing; of utterly baffled silence, a crease of her forehead and a sinking in those perfect features, before Elsa managed to choke out a stupefied response.

 

“Bucky.” The vet kept her tone as level as she could possibly keep it, perhaps swirled with perplexed, uneasy laughter. “That would make you nearly a hundred years old, that’s not even possible…” When her incredulity faded into dejectedness, Bucky felt the familiar lurch in his stomach; this was only _part_ of what he had been afraid of. “You know… If you didn’t want to take things any further… All you had to do was say so. You don’t have to make things up, I’m not a child.”

 

“But I **do**.” He didn’t fight the urgency, she needed to hear it; the equal state of undress had no bearing on his seriousness. “I do wanna take things further. That’s _why_ I’m tellin’ you, Els. You deserve to know. I mean… If we do take a stab at this, this _us_ thing, there’s a lot you’re gonna have to understand and the only place that’s gonna come from is knowing _why.”_ _That’s it._ He thought again, crestfallen. _I’ve lost her, and I’ve barely opened my mouth._ “Even if you didn’t understand… I’d wanna be open with you. Honest with you. And some of this _stuff…_ They’re not secrets you keep from someone you wanna build something with.” Maybe it was a bold assumption, but she didn’t challenge it.

 

Swallowing the build-up of saliva from his mini spew, Bucky waited under the dissecting gaze from the bed. Unreadable, Elsa searched every sun-kissed line and freckle in the White Wolf’s face; scrutinizing for some bare sign of a lie or exaggeration, but all she found was genuine anguish, distress and a desperation to be believed.

 

“Let me guess.” Again, her tone betrayed nothing, but Bucky allowed himself a relieved breath; at least she was still there. “When you said you were in the army, you meant World War II.”

 

“I was deployed to Europe in 1943, yeah.” _Careful._ He urged himself. _Easy…_ “The 107th Infantry Regiment. Then, the Howling Commandos.”

 

“But… _How?”_

_This…_ This was the hard part. Again, start small. Build. To do that, Bucky took a deep breath and smothered the trauma bubbling in his stomach and brain alike.

 

“You ever heard of _Hydra_?” How he didn’t retch on the poison of the name, Bucky didn’t know but he was thankful for the small mercy all the same. The hush that engulfed the room suggested she hadn’t heard the question or didn’t understand it, but the intensity that hung in the air argued otherwise. At last, she sat forward, head cocked, and eyes narrowed with hateful recognition.

 

_“Nazis?”_

Bucky cracked a sad smile at the vehemence she had laced into each letter; he’d felt the same, hence his self-appointed duty to stop them and everything they stood for. He (and Steve) ended up getting a hell of a lot more than they bargained for but… he knew that when he stood in line to be assessed for suitability, he knew it when he left Brooklyn for the last time, and he certainly knew it when he scaled the train in the Alps: the ultimate sacrifice could be demanded of him. As it happened, it had been but, in blessing and curse, it was not as permanent as it might have been for someone else.

 

“Nazis.” The White Wolf confirmed, nodding through his sigh. “It’s a Nazi science division. Or was.” Her eyes had found his stump and all of a sudden, for the first time since he met her, Bucky was self-conscious of it.

 

_“Did they-?”_

“No. Not really, no. They gave me a replacement, actually. But I paid for it.” _You’re doing okay. It’s working. She’s still here. She’s listening. Keep going. The truth. Only the truth._

“My unit was ambushed and overpowered at Azzano.” He went on, keeping to memory to prevent getting side-tracked. Despite being in the safety of his humble home, Bucky could not help but feel the resonation of fear and vulnerability from all those years ago; from the weapon’s facility, from the holding cell, from the laboratory. Many did not make it out, particularly those subjected to his same plight, but ever the survivor, Bucky gently ushered himself back to the present.

 

“We were taken to a weapon’s facility in the Swiss Alps where we were forced to work as POWs. They beat us, they tortured us, worked us to the bone… When we, me included, got too weak to work, they experimented on us.”

 

Elsa paled in horrified solidarity, the very thought of it revolting. It seemed a world away, an entire lifetime; things like that didn’t happen anymore. And yet… Here he was. In front of her. Recounting his direct, first-hand experience. And how could she _not_ believe it? When every word was uttered with hollowed trauma? Grave, solemn and sedate.

 

_“I can’t imagine…”_

“It killed them. What they did to me, it killed others.” Perhaps he hadn’t meant it to come out so _dispassionately,_ but the fact remained: He had lived through what others had not. Half afraid to ask and even more afraid of the answer, the vet hesitated before asking:

 

_“What did they do to you?”_

 

Re-living the war, his capture and imprisonment was one thing and outlandish enough. But… the birth of the Winter Soldier and his fifty-year reign of terror was very much another. How did he even begin? How did he tell this girl, this splash of colour on his blank canvas, about brainwashing? Assassination? Cryostasis?

 

 _“Bucky?”_ Crash-landing to reality, woken by her tender rousing, the White Wolf had spaced, but for a different reason than usual in her presence. _“Are you alright? Why don’t you sit down?”_

“They wanted a Super Soldier.” He went on soberly, stirred by her prompting and ignoring the invitation to sit. “I was the first the serum worked on, that it didn’t kill. It was experimental, uncompleted, but with so many test subjects, why not keep trying?”

_“Sweetheart-“_

“Enhanced durability... Enhanced speed… Enhanced reflexes…” Bucky listed the terrible gifts in a sedated drone, having had them drilled into his brain all those years ago, never to be scrubbed. “Enhanced stamina… Enhanced agility… Regenerative healing abilities…” They had been repeated in a loop to him, at him and over him while in Hydra’s clutches; going into cryostasis after a mission or coming out of it before one. Sometimes, just while Zola marvelled at him, awestruck by the achievement. “And I didn’t have a say in any of it.”

 

It had become apparent that to let him vent was the easiest and kindest thing to do; to be able to talk about it, pick it apart aloud and understand it might be invaluable to him. She had never seen him so sunken or withdrawn as she did now but attentive and patient, she let him go on, uninterrupted.

 

“I was rescued with the rest of my squad and others by… Captain America-” _Leave Steve out of it for now._ “And returned to our base camp. There, we formed the Howling Commandos with Captain America to go after a Nazi called Johann Schmidt and Arnim Zola, the scientist behind the Super Soldier project.”

 

Bucky paused, his mouth dry and his mind still a jumble when it came to the next part. Even then, some seventy-odd years later, the very idea of it sent a shiver down his spine. He remembered the train, he remembered falling, screaming but… his next clear memory was the sterility of a lab. They said he had been pulled from the icy Danube; it was probably the only truth Hydra had ever told him.

 

“I… became compromised and couldn’t complete the mission.” Before she could ask what happened, the White Wolf lost the restraint he had been holding on the details. “Our intel had been skewed and they were waiting for us. I fell from the train heading back to the Alps, mid-fight, and down into the river below.”

 

“That should have killed you.” Elsa broke her worried but fascinated silence, looking upon the ex-Winter Soldier with renewed astonishment. “If not the fall, the water-“

 

“The temperature and the water itself, yeah. Hypothermia. Drowning.” Tugging his (only) hand through his days’ worth of tangle, Bucky considered his next plot point. “I didn’t know what they’d done to me or how I survived till I woke up in another cell for… God, I dunno how many years. All I know is, I’d rather’ve been dead than faced with Arnim Zola again.”

 

“But you were.” Came the guess that Bucky did not dismiss.

 

“Yeah.” He murmured, knowing crunch-time was coming, when she would make up her mind to stay or go and, with Bucky’s renewed all-time low, he could almost safely assume she would do the latter. “I think I could’ve lived with the enhanced speed, agility and everything else but… that’s not even the worst of it.”

 

Could his resolve have crumbled further? It seemed so when he chanced another look at the bed to spy the head, abundant in its loose, dark waves, tilted in a way that always crippled him.

 

“The Super Soldier serum was only part of the program, what became known as the Winter Soldier program…” Swallowing hard, Bucky grit his teeth and flared his nostrils in some vain attempt at grappling control of his emotions. “Mind control was the rest.”

 

 _“Fifty years.”_ He went on, voice cracking and purpose slipping. _“Fifty years of assassinations, mindless killing and slaughter. They kept me like a dog on a leash, letting me loose when it was time for me to do what I was kept to do… Wiping out anyone that was a threat to them… People I knew… People I cared about… Innocent bystanders…”_ Howard Stark, his wife Maria (her crime simply amounted to being in the wrong place at the wrong time), and Steve Rogers who, thankfully, had been an unsuccessful target.

 

Elsa had straightened on the bed, spine steeled, and chin jutted parallel to her chest; as if it had just occurred to her that the man she was alone in a hut with could potentially be dangerous. And she would be hopelessly out muscled should he decide to attack her.

 

 _But that’s not him…_ She told herself, watching as the self-confessed murderer deteriorated into little more than a frightened child. _He’s not like that. Not anymore, at least… He’s no beast. He’s no monster._

_“The mind control is gone.”_ Bucky rasped, lifting his despondent gaze from the floor, only for his stomach to replace it when he realized her body language had changed. _“That’s why I’m here. You said Shuri can do anything, you were right. I’m cured, but I’ve so much healing left to do.”_

Elsa was no longer on the bed, and with agility to match Bucky’s, one hand had taken hold of his, while the other planted itself flat on the White Wolf’s chest to guide him back towards the vacant bed. Bewildered, he complied, at a loss for anything else. Doleful, he watched through bloodshot eyes as she began to dress.

 

_“Where’re you going?”_

“To the jeep.” Was her somewhat distracted reply, seating herself at the kitchen table as a grounding to pull on her boots. Despite being crushed, what else could he do other than nod that utterly heartbroken nod?

 

_“I don’t blame you.”_

With stealth to match a Winter Soldier, Elsa was upon him again. Could he recall the last time his chin was cupped like that? Sitting perfectly in her palms, like they had been moulded to slot together? Or kissed so tenderly on the forehead?

 

 _“I’m going to the jeep to get tea.”_ She soothed, lining the bridge of her nose with his. _“Where I come from, tea makes everything better. I promise I will be no more than thirty seconds; you can come with me if you wish.”_

* * *

 

As per her gentle, benevolent declaration, Elsa was gone no more than thirty seconds; Bucky had fretfully counted them from where she’d left him on the bed. Her return was marked by filling the cast iron kettle and setting it aside to boil while Bucky looked on.

 

As if there was no implication, simply getting comfortable, the little vet began to disrobe once more; stripping down to the bare essentials that she had donned for her brief excursion to the jeep.

The reuniting peck was mutual, instinctive; learning to read each other over the past week had apparently slipped their notice. It felt only natural for Elsa to seat herself in Bucky’s lap, to be close when that peck evolved; one strong arm securing her waist, while a smaller one crossed from behind his left shoulder to his right.

 

From there, no one noticed the kettle boil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave a review if you did!


	11. Pillowtalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very comfortable aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! Hope you enjoy!

Dawn’s clean light bled through the thin slivers of material over the windows; humble imitations of curtains that served a similar purpose. But it was enough to rouse an enamoured pair to the minimal plain of wakefulness.

_“You know…”_ Came the sleepy murmur from the negotiable darkness of shuttered lids. _“If this is going to be a regular occurrence, you should probably get a bigger bed.”_

_“I dunno…”_ Another answered, just as groggy and dazed. _“I kinda like this one.”_

_“I’m practically on top of you.”_

_“Yeah…”_ Why did the inkling of mischief not surprise her? The pull of a tired smile that she couldn’t see for the dark but could hear, clear as day? _“That’s why I like it.”_

_“Cheeky pup.”_ The close quarters of the bed kept them tight, but somehow, they managed to wriggle closer and maximize the intimate closeness; the shared body heat being sweeter than any African sun. _“How are you feeling now?”_

_“Better. Lots better. I’ve never really talked about it like that; it’s such a load off.”_

_“I can’t even begin to imagine. But if it helped, I’m sure it was worth it.”_

_“Mmm… It was a lot to take in. You handled it really well.”_

_“Are we still talking about the conversation we had last night, or what we did afterwards?”_

Despite the sleep still clogging his system, Bucky’s eyelids tightened their squeeze and his lungs heaved with soft huffs of laughter. And _he’d w_ orried about impropriety?!

 

_“I can’t believe you just made a dick joke.”_

_“It was right there; I would have kicked myself if I didn’t take it.”_

 

Inhaling a contented sigh, Bucky lazily opened one eye to observe the half-wakeful form at his side. Eyes closed, hair loose and strewn carelessly across the pillow, Elsa rivalled and far surpassed the prettiest girl in Brooklyn; a vision, his perfect fit, his polar opposite.

 

 _“You move around a lot in your sleep.”_ He noted, resisting the further pull of slumber to look upon her a little longer.

 

 _“I’m not accustomed to sharing a bed.”_ A reasonable explanation, one Bucky could sympathize with but, that night and early into the morning, saw him acting as a partial mattress; to shift would mean disturbing his companion.

 

_“Me neither. Like I said: Been a long time.”_

Only then did Elsa’s eyes open; an enchanting flicker of her lids to unshutter eyes of sapphire, to find herself already the subject of Bucky’s besotted focus.

 

_“Sounds like something we should work on together then.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Fresh tea and fresh coffee (the best Bucky had ever had the privilege to sample; a local blend, and better than anything he’d had in a Brooklyn diner) marked the beginning of a new day but, even with their preferred beverages, the pair had difficulty leaving the bed.

 

“Did it hurt?”

 

Bucky’s chin crossed his torso for it to almost rest on the empty socket of his shoulder. Topless and exposed, the garish mass of scar tissue haunted the injury from almost a lifetime ago; serving as a brutal reminder.

 

“I don’t really remember.” He admitted quietly, as fascinated by the web of scarring that ate its way across his thorax as she was, never really having reason to mull on it until now. “I mean… It must’ve but… I think the serum must’ve cushioned it.” Losing its replacement, however, had _definitely_ hurt. And in more ways than one.

 

Elsa straightened and shuffled onto her behind, placing her cup on the bedside table as she did so. Bucky, curious, watched as she homed in and resisted the urge to flinch or shy away when she touched the mangled disfigurement; albeit with the utmost gentility and care. It was, without doubt, the sweetest touch Bucky’s shoulder socket had ever received.

 

“That could have been a whole lot tidier if they cared to make it so.” The White Wolf grimaced, touched by the bite of professional disapproval in his defence. “Honestly. Shoddy stitching. Possibly infected at some point-“ _Not impossible, not when I was left to rot in a cell._ “It looks like it wasn’t even given a proper chance to heal before it was disturbed… Bastards.”

 

“God, I could listen to you say that all day.”

 

“What? Bastards?”

 

 _“Yeah.”_ He confirmed, an adoring chuckle massaging his tone. _“That one.”_

“Well, they are. Hydra are bastards. For everything they did. But mostly what they did to you. Bastarding bastards.”

 

Random, impromptu kisses were not an uncommon entity anymore; rather, a joyous indulgence for both to immerse themselves in. This one was no exception. Already close from the criticizing examination of Bucky’s scar, it was too tempting not to close the distance and plant her lips on his; his response was the most natural thing in the world.

 

 _“We really should get up.”_ The little vet pressed with echoes of amusement, narrowly pulling herself back to speak, but never going too far, never out of reach.

 

 _“We did get up.”_ He reminded her in coy reply, lining his nose with her cheek; a token of deepest affection. _“But we didn’t like it, so we went back to bed, remember?”_

_“We did, didn’t we?”_ Prompted by an unfathomable and unwelcome instinct, Elsa’s heed dropped to her clothes on the floor; probably dictated by her body clock. _“I have rounds to make. Usual start to the day.”_

“Sure…” What else could he do but accept it? To take the sting out of it, he made light of it instead. “I usually have an early appointment with the vet, but I think her interests are less professional and more personal lately.”

 

“Well, if she has any sense.” Elsa rebuffed, similarly impish and taken in by the half shrug and lopsided grin; again, neither made an attempt to move from the bed. “I’m sure she’d rather be here than dealing with some of the silly, trivial things that she wouldn’t have to deal with if her warnings had been heeded months ago. The most demanding part of your morning is Bonnie!”

 

 _“The only being, human or otherwise, to ever put me in my place.”_ He murmured fondly, re-enveloping his _friend_ to his torso; she didn’t fight him, but snuggled closer and closed her eyes at the doting kiss to her head. Chest to chest, one heart matched the other beat for beat, pound for pound; speaking to each other. _“She reminds me of a neighbour I had back in Brooklyn. Mrs Leibowitz. Jewish lady, the toughest old broad in Brooklyn. Lost her husband and both her sons in the Great War.”_

_“That would make a formidable individual out of anyone.”_

 

 _“She used to give me five cents to clean her windows.”_ Bucky reminisced; the smile hadn’t wavered since he managed to intercept her from leaving. _“I don’t think she understood inflation much, but she made the best damn lemonade.”_

_“That’s probably the most American thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.”_

 

“It’s true!” He objected to a playful tut and roll of sapphire eyes, she had no reason to disbelieve it and certainly no reason to move from one of the most comfortable and cherished positions she’d ever found herself in. “I went to see her the day before I shipped out. Know what she said to me?”

 

“Did it have something to do with apple pie?” It was Bucky’s turn to tut and roll his eyes, though he did so with the same tongue-in-cheek demeanour.

 

“She said: _“Give ‘em hell, boy.””._ Maybe it stirred a certain melancholy in the ex-soldier; remembering the proud sadness of the old woman when he stood in her kitchen in his uniform. He hadn’t realized it back then, but Mrs Leibowitz had hoped she wasn’t about to lose another man close to her heart to war. She was long dead, of course; hell, Bucky should have been too, many times over. “ _“Give ‘em hell from me, from Brooklyn, and from Uncle Sam. My windows’ll be waiting when you get back.”_ Then she gave me five cents... And I never saw her again.”

 

 _“She’d be very proud of you. You gave them hell.”_ Hushed, Elsa opted for reassurance; giving Bucky’s (much larger) hand a squeeze, followed by a soft peck to his lower jaw. Gentility: He responded best to it. And really, was that such a surprise? When he’d spent so _long_ being handled like an animal? Like a beast? Like a monster? Like a tool, or a piece of unliving, unfeeling equipment? No more.

 

* * *

 

 

 _“I’ll be back later.”_ The promise came from barely separated lips; again, the final set of kisses given and received from the driver’s seat of the jeep. _“I’ll bring dinner. But for now, you better go and butter up Bonnie.”_ An endeared titter of amusement had laced itself into the last of the final kisses before the engine _finally_ awakened after a rest much longer than the others. “Behave yourself until I get back, won’t you, Barnes?”

“Wouldn’t dream of misbehaving till you’re back to misbehave with me.”

 

“Cheeky pup.”

 

* * *

 

 

**“Yes?!”**

**“Elsa, are you alright?!”** Frowning at nothing, the vet was better than she had been in a _long_ time, but Shuri’s disembodied voice caused concern. Slowing the jeep between farms, she could only donate half her attention to getting from one to the other safely. Shouting over the engine and the passing wind, Elsa called back:

 

**“Shuri! Yes, I’m fine, why?!”**

**“Your pass did not register at the apartment complex last night! We thought something might have happened!”**

 

 _Oh Christ…_ The drop in her stomach had nothing to do with one of the many bumps she negotiated with a little less care than usual. _How do I explain this? Least of all to a sixteen-year-old…?_

**“Oh… Yes… I got held up at a call last night and I felt it best not to travel after dark.”** A reservation Elsa was known to have.

 

 **“Where did you sleep?! _Did_ you sleep?!”** _Shuri, do you really need to know this, dear?_ Time for a half-truth. Or two.

 

 **“Sergeant Barnes was kind enough to let me rest in the safety of his compound.”** _Not entirely untrue, not entirely a lie either._ **“I did sleep, I slept fine. Thank you, Shuri.”** Being blind to Shuri, for the safety of operating a vehicle, Elsa did not see the ecstatic wiggling bounce of triumph that only the lab’s security footage was privy to.

**“Where are you now?”**

**“I’m west-bound to Vasi’s. I should be arriving in another ten minutes or so; her mare needs a check-up.”**

**“As long as you’re alright.”** Shuri replied, keeping a cool lid on her simmering delight (she had no idea of how successful her efforts had _truly_ been). **“You owe me Kinsa’s! Don’t forget!”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	12. Cats and Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky prepares the farm for an incoming storm, worrying when Elsa is nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a mini-chapter. It's clocked up over 2,600 words!  
> Hope you enjoy!

Bucky had been doing fine.

 

The evening was beginning to draw to a close, the clouds starting to roll in and bringing the darkness with them. The darkness and the storm.

 

The air hung heavy and humid, the breeze barely there as a scarce, dying token. Lightning already flashed on the horizon, closely followed by the **booming** of thunder; each flash and every rumble prompted a ripple of discomfort in the animals. Hence Bucky’s hurry in getting them to shelter.

 

The goats were cooperating with being rounded up, sensing the incoming spike in the weather. The chickens were next to be put away for the night; or that was the plan, at least. But, out of nowhere, progress stalled.

 

Joyce stopped first, twisting her neck to stare down the border of the farm, off the dirt track that served as a road and a connection to the outside world.

 

“Joyce.” Bucky called from beside the open door of the overnight enclosure, similar to his own dwelling in material and structure for maximum comfort. “C’mon, honey. Inside. Storm’s comin’.” Stubbornness: one of the key traits in a goat that Bucky had come to love; and Joyce embodied it to the fullest by ignoring her carer and keeping watch over the road. The phrase “Stubborn as a Goat” had been coined by an encounter with Bucky’s flock, he was convinced of it.

 

“I know she’s late.” Leaving the door open, Bucky traced several steps to the rest of the flock who had followed Joyce’s example and hesitated too. “But she promised she’d be back before the storm hit. And you guys, ‘specially **him-** “ Nodding pointedly to the two-week-old William, the White Wolf could be forgiven if he forgot he addressed a flock of _goats._ “Need to be inside when it does.”

 

No movement. So, Bucky tried something else; albeit grasping at straws.

 

“Can you talk to her, please?” He rounded on Bonnie, the head honcho, with something akin to strain in his tone; her helpfulness extended to a blink. “Or… Y’know… Go inside? They might follow?”

 

Nah.

 

“Okay.” Bucky’s only arm flapped with resignation; a habit when the girls’ stubbornness got the better of him. “Fine. I’ll get the chickens first. But **then** you’re goin’ inside.” _And hope Elsa gets here in the meantime._

* * *

 

 

 _“Katie… Maria… Catherine… Christina…”_ So far, the chickens’ headcount presented a full house… Or chicken coop. _“Louise… Rebecca… Amanda… Right, that’s everyone.”_ With every passing minute, urgency climbed, and with the goats still outside, it was a small mercy that all the chickens were accounted for and poised fewer problems than their hooved counterparts.

“It’ll be okay, girls. I’ll be right next door; I’ll check on you later if I can.”

 

The goats were not where he’d left them, much to the brief bite of panic that the imminent storm had inspired; trying to get his animals to safety before even thinking of himself. Then… There was the suffocating anxiety of his _companion_ getting caught up in it too.

 

Would he endure searching in the thunder and lightning if it meant bringing her back to the farm safely? Would he brace himself against the wind and wade through torrential rain in a bid to bundle her into bed and keep her warm? Of course. Without question.

 

The girls (and baby William) had drifted further towards the border of the farm, all standing to worried attention; apparently privy to something Bucky was not.

 

“C’mon, guys.” Bucky edged himself between the flock and the boundary of the farm, stepping carefully to drive them back but it only partly worked. His efforts, however, were not the reason for the half-effectiveness of the endeavour.

 

 _“Thank God.”_ He huffed when another roll of thunder petered out but seemingly continued, only for the remnant to match that of the jeep’s engine. “Okay, party’s over. She’s here. C’mon, fresh food, water and bedding in the barn. You’re in for one hell of a cosy storm.”

 

Headlights, round and yellow, peeked from the encroaching darkness and somehow, Bucky felt what the others felt: uneasiness. The headlights trundled for the farm at an unusual and unnecessary speed; sure, the storm was starting, but when she was this close, did she need to drive so fast?

 

 _“Shit…_ **A’RIGHT!! BACK!!”** And just like that, the goats scattered to a secure distance with numerous bleats of protest. Raising his voice was not born of losing control or an overwrought temper, but a desperation to clear them potentially from harm’s way and clear the way for Elsa simultaneously; whatever was wrong.

 

The jeep cleared the boundary of the farm at such a roaring speed, throwing up dust as it **_screeched_** to a precarious halt; the usual crunch of the handbrake seemingly a frantic second thought. He’d never seen the canvas top with plastic windows up, but he’d never seen a storm like this either. Had the jeep even stopped fully before the driver’s door was thrown open?

 

 **“Els?!”** Bucky shouted over another reverberation of thunder, breaking into a jog. **“What’s-?!”**

Elsa’s frenetic stumble from the driver’s seat suggested alcohol, lots of alcohol. But, closing the distance, Bucky found grave upset instead.

 

_“Help me.”_

 

“Els, what-?”

 

It did not sit well with the White Wolf when his Lioness arrived, cheeks stained and eyes an incriminatingly ruby red. His blip of inaction spanned maybe two seconds, two seconds of just standing there watching her struggle with the back portion of the jeep.

 

The awakening jolt to his system, however, was the blood. The body. The chest heaving in frenzied jolts; panic-stricken but too weak to do anything.

 

A dog. A large, black and tan dog; a mongrel if ever there was a mongrel.

 

 _“Grab my bag. Get the door.”_ How the tiny vet managed to heave the animal almost as big as herself into her arms so securely and lift it, Bucky couldn’t be sure, but adrenaline had to be _somewhat_ responsible.

 

 _“He’s been shot, he’s lost a lot of blood…”_ She imparted breathlessly, as she floundered over the threshold of Bucky’s home and made a beeline for the fire; to place the dying dog down, to abate the cold of blood loss. _“I found him at the side of the road… I wasn’t leaving him there…”_

“Okay…” Calmer, but out of a loss of what to do, Bucky set down the bag as requested, then retreated. “I’m gonna…”

 

* * *

 

 

The goats had put themselves into the barn; whether that was out of respect for the situation or their loathing for the rain, Bucky chose to believe the former. So, he thanked them, told them the same as the chickens, and secured the overnight holding. Then, he returned to Elsa, should she require the assistance of a one-armed man. But not without making a detour first.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _“Good boy…”_ The drained, half-hearted lift of a lip was little more than an attempted threat; an unfamiliar human, doing things to him, while he was in _horrendous_ pain. She would have been disheartened if there had been no such reaction; it would have been clear he had given up, but this dog, no more than a year old, was clearly a fighter. _“It’s alright…”_ So riddled with agony, what was one needle-prick to this poor beast? _“This is to help you sleep and take the edge off the pain.”_

“How’re we looking?” Almost afraid to ask but compelled all the same, Bucky laid aside the fruit of his detour. “Anything I can do?”

 

 _“I need to get the bullet out, then assess the damage and try and fix it accordingly. I’m just waiting for the anaesthetic to kick in and hope it doesn’t kill him.”_ Turning on her rear, the fear and despair were gut-wrenching. _“I hate to ask you to go out in the storm again, but-“_

“Screw the storm, Els. What d’you need?”

 

_“I need blood from the boot. If he’s going to have any sort of chance, it’s imperative.”_

* * *

 

_“What now?”_

_“Now… We wait.”_

Despite being utterly exhausted, Elsa could not tear her eyes from her accidental and impromptu patient. The surgery, if it could even be called that, was as successful as it could have been with her limited resources and now, he recovered in the woven wicker basket Bucky had foraged from one of the outbuildings. Complete, of course, with a blanket from the White Wolf’s own bed, volunteered by the White Wolf himself.

 

Bucky left her on the bed without a word, but so entranced by the positive and steady rising and falling of the dog’s chest, she hardly noticed.

 

With limited heed on his task, Bucky divided his attention between it and Elsa. Naturally, it was dreadfully upsetting that someone would harm an animal for no good reason; worse again, to leave it to die in agony. But… How could Bucky not be so captivated by her concern? Her distress? Her tireless efforts to help him? For this animal that she knew nothing about; his history, owners, potential aggression or diseases.

 

Simply because he, an innocent, needed help. To Bucky, that represented an incredible human being. An incredible human being that, unofficially, had chosen him. Did that make him feel unworthy? Perhaps. In the same way he felt unworthy when Steve tore apart the Avengers on a German airstrip to bring him to Siberia.

 

 _“Hey.”_ All it took was to waft the scalding ribbon of steam under her nose to rouse her from whatever weary daze she found herself in. _“Tea. Food’ll be ready in a minute.”_

Accepting the clay mug into her hands and warming them on it, Elsa took her turn to admire the scarred (in more ways than one) male who poked behind the curtain over the kitchen sink. All the while Bucky, fascinated himself with the assaulting, pelting **_pings_** of rain against the windowpanes; causing them to rattle in their slots.

 

“It’s really comin’ down out there.” To which the vet naturally (if quietly) replied:

 

_“Cats and dogs?”_

“Least I know there’s nothing wrong with your sense of humour.” He retorted but indulged in a smile at the corny answer anyway. “It’s actually not bad, I could get used to it.” Brandishing his own clay cup with the same tea as he traipsed the kitchen to return to her side, Bucky then re-settled himself on the bed and let his focus join hers on the dog.

 

_“Take it easy with that. I have to get that imported from home.”_

 

“Duly noted.”

 

The following silence simmered, though Bucky couldn’t say why. Their time together had tuned them so finely that reading each other extended to more than just intimacy but companionship and little moments like this. Ever so carefully (as if fearful of disturbing the dog), Elsa shuffled sideways until her body met the solid grounding of Bucky’s. Without consultation or question, her head met his shoulder and the kiss to her temple that followed was beautifully routine by now.

 

 _“I’m sorry.”_ The ex-Winter Soldier felt his forehead crease.

 

“Help me out, Els. Sorry for what?”

 

_“I scuppered our plans for this evening. I was supposed to get dinner and we were supposed to have this lovely night in from the storm but-“_

“Elsa-”

 

_“I couldn’t leave him there. I found a pulse and I just couldn't-_

“Els. Baby-”

 

_“He needed me-!”_

“Elsa. Shut up.” She did, but mostly out of taken-aback astonishment; like a deer in the headlights, fearful of a berating. Sighing as he turned on the mattress, Bucky’s mind bubbled with her incorrect assessment; perhaps he had been a touch _full-on_ , but he had her attention. How could she think like that? That he would penalize her for doing her job? Not only her job, but what her heart dictated was the right thing? That she prioritized so highly as to establish it as a career; a career that brought her all the way to Africa.

 

“To hell with plans.” Imposing his gaze on her with an intensity that demanded her wary attention. “Screw plans, we can make new plans. He-“ Gesturing to the unconscious animal in the basket by the fire, he went on. “Needed you. You saved his life. You did what you needed to do, what you felt was right; you really think I’m gonna hold that against you?”

 

Maybe that hadn’t occurred to her, that the soul sitting opposite her, despite the staining that he had not inflicted upon himself, was so pure that he _understood._

“I mean… Sure, I got worried when you didn’t turn up when you said you would, what with the storm and everything, but…” The reason was understandable, as was the state she eventually turned up in. Cup laid aside, Bucky re-placed himself beside his tiny vet, enveloped her close to his chest and tucked her head to his collarbone with his chin; the effort was mutual, a joint, much-needed comfort. Keeping his voice low and gentle out of consideration, he went about the confessing explanations. _“I love that you needed to do that. I love that you dropped everything to help an injured dog at the side of the road. It’s who you are, I can’t ask for anything else.”_

_“What if he doesn’t make it?”_

_“He will.”_ Those two words carried the strength of the White Wolf’s conviction; as if they too had been injected with Super Soldier serum. _“The best vet in Wakanda found him. He’s gonna be just fine.”_

_“And afterwards?”_

_“Well…”_ Bucky sat forward ever so slightly, not enough to disturb their position but enough to get a better look at the dog; or what he could see of him for the blanket. _“I’ve always wanted a dog.”_

_“Are you sure? He’s young. Just a big pup.”_

_“Yeah…”_ Resumption of post-war life began to get more familiar; despite how long ago the war had been and how much he’d missed since. _“Always said when the war was over that I’d get a dog. War’s over. There’s my dog.”_

_“Let’s get him through the night first.”_

_“Speaking of getting through the night…”_ Bucky assumed the role of responsible and sensible adult with another kiss to her head, a parting one this time, before prying himself from her to throw a meal together. “You need to eat, and you need to sleep.”

* * *

 

 

The storm had passed and, in its wake, left a new day; a new day that the birds outside welcomed with sweet song. A film of life-breathing rain coated everything, every leaf, blade of grass and grain of dirt; to break the thirst left by the African sun. However, it was not the sunlight or the bird song that woke James Buchanan Barnes outrageously early that morning.

 

**Thump.**

_What the hell…?_ Bucky tried to open one eye, bleary and strained, but could not maintain it when the muscle in his eyelid refused to cooperate.

 

**Thump.**

The White Wolf shifted experimentally: no smaller form pinning him to the wall.

 

**Thump.**

_“Els?”_

_“I’m over here.”_ Sluggish, Bucky turned himself and propped his bodyweight onto his only elbow while his body came to terms with being awake. The sniffle registered in his ears, the clearing of her throat following closely after. Had his eyes been open, he might have closed them in resigned despair. Absent from the bed, her voice coming from the basket, her voice marred evidence of tears; he could only assume the worst.

 

**Thump.**

 

_“You okay?”_

 

 _“I’m fine.”_ Another sniffle that tore at Bucky’s gut.

**Thump.**

_“What’s that noise?”_

Maybe she hadn’t heard him; so deep in melancholy, he could expect and understand her being sealed from the conversation. Either way, he could have to get up; to console her and to start digging a grave, he could only assume that to be what she would want. After such a pause, Bucky gave up on getting an answer, but when she surprised him with one, it held a soft bubble of hiccupping laughter that pulled his head off the pillow.

_“He’s wagging his tail.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's chickens are named after my co-workers!


	13. Static

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky receives an unexpected communication and keeps Elsa up with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

**“G’boooooy!!”**

 

Despite his enthusiasm, Bucky then sighed, picking up the wet, dirt-caked object and launching it again; the extra distance clocked by Super Soldier strength was a bonus. _I won’t get anything done, not while he’s got that ball._ But Bucky kept throwing the ball; even if it took him a hundred times longer to complete a task with the constant interruptions.

 

Elsa guessed their newest addition had traces of Collie (as well as German Shepherd and Labrador, among several others that Bucky didn’t recognize) and judging by the fervour and speed Cody retrieved the ball with, Bucky was inclined to agree. The White Wolf’s latest throw bought him little over a minute before his beloved mongrel reappeared, panting from behind the ball.

“Y’know, maybe you should take a break till your mom gets home, huh? She’ll throw the ball better; she won’t have anything else to do. But this poop isn’t gonna shovel and bag itself.”

 

As it turned out, having a vet in _close quarters_ had numerous benefits; and nothing to do with the fact that Elsa rarely (if ever) stayed in her own apartment anymore. She still maintained they needed a bigger bed; even more so when Cody, two weeks after his arrival and living room surgery, decided the basket didn’t cut it anymore. It might have made intimacy a little more difficult, but both seemed to be up for the challenge.

 

Couplehood and aiding his recovery aside, Elsa taught him valuable lessons about his new vocation that never would have occurred to him without her.

 

_“And… What are you doing with that?” She’d asked, a week previous while Bucky laboured shovelling the goats’ leavings of the day into the wheelbarrow._

_“Dumping it.” Came the obvious reply, tinged with a soft groan of effort as the muscles in his back and arm worked in perfect tandem. “It’s just goat crap.”_

_“Dumping it…” Clearing her throat, the little Lioness tried to be gentle with her phrasing. “Bucky… Love… You realize that **that** is raw fertilizer. Not only is it raw fertilizer, it is…” Maybe the White Wolf hadn’t expected his unofficial partner to seize a handful of excrement and bring it to her nose, but she did it anyway. “Very good quality raw fertilizer. Darling, you could sell this and turn a tidy profit.”_

_Bucky stopped shovelling, straightened himself then leaned on the spade, looking bemusedly at the barrow of yesterday's feed-turned-today’s gold._

_“Why are you only telling me this **now**?”_

_“I didn’t know you were dumping it until **now**.”_

_“So... What do I do?”_

_“Weigh it. Bag it. Sell it.”_

As it happened, she was right. She fixed the price (fair but in their favour) based on her experience and knowledge, and Bucky left the next market without a single bag left (but plenty of pre-orders for the following week); his first step into establishment had been taken.

 

“I know you love your ball, Codes, and I know you got a lotta energy to burn up, but really, I need to do this. Maybe I should train you to hold the bag.” In fairness, Elsa had warned him: _He’s young. Just a big pup…_ And if their inkling into (part of) his breed was correct, his abundance of energy could only be expected; combined with his age.

 

“Okay… One more. One- _Shit_.” With distraction and without aim, Bucky’s hurl of the ball did not match the distance or the precision of the others; not when the sudden vibration of his com device in his pocket threw him off. Shovel dropped and hand empty of a ball (for now), he fumbled for the device, but curiosity immediately struck him when he eventually got it out. _Facial display function not available._

_Weird…_ He thought, frowning at the screen, the sequence of unfamiliar numbers doing nothing to ease him. Was Elsa in a bad area? Where her own communicator was limited in its function? Only one way to find out.

 

“Els?!” Nothing in reply, but a jumble of static and a strange warble of (what he could only assume was) a voice. “ _What the hell…?_ Hello?!”

 

The buzzing of a “voice” continued, seemingly shouting the same “word” over and over again. Finally, Bucky lost his patience; the background screeching hurting his ears and the annoyance of lost time driving him over the edge. He would make allowances for Cody, but no one else.

 

“Look, buddy!” He barked into the communicator, his fuse shortening. “I dunno who this is but I got stuff to do! Whatta you want?!” As if he’d never left New York.

 

Just like that, the incessant interference stopped, as did the voice. Bucky leaned into nothing to tune into what sounded like shuffling, something being moved or adjusted. Then, out of nowhere...

 

 **“Buck?!”** Clear as day. **“Bucky, that you?!”**

Bucky's mouth dried and his breath shortened as quick as his fuse; which had strangely replenished.

 

_“Steve...?”_

The laugh in the communicator oozed joy, triumph and relief; much like Bucky's own shaky, disbelieving smile. Finally, after several failed tries, Steve’s elated beam could be heard weaved into every breath of laughter; and then, every word.

 

**“How've you been, Buck?”**

“I didn’t think I could get any better…” Bucky let the grin take over; why restrain it? “But then your Goddamn static ripped up my com.”

 

 **“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Different frequencies and devices; still throws me a bit. Doesn’t help that your place is on a whole different level to the rest of us.”** The technological advancement of Wakanda would, of course, provide a challenge to contact from the outside; another protection from the world beyond. As it turned out, even an Avenger (the First Avenger) had trouble getting through. **“It’s great to hear you, Buck. Really. Can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you, pal.”**

“I know, it’s been a long time-“

 

 **“We gotta stop it being so long. That’s why I’m calling.”** Easing his feet, Bucky parked himself on the battered bench that lined one of the outbuildings; preparing himself. The girls milled around him, untroubled by Cody and his desperate nudges through the flock to get back to Bucky with the ball. They tried nudges of their own, only to find the usual treat pockets were empty. **“I mean… If you’re well enough and feel up to it-“**

“I’m perfect.” Hardly a lie, when all the luck he’d been due since the war had hit him at once, with no sign of it abating just yet. “Whatta you have in mind?”

 

 **“I was gonna come to you.”** While Bucky was a naturalized citizen of Wakanda, a warmly welcomed individual with the blessing of the royal family, it was easy to forget he was still a fugitive elsewhere. Steve coming to him might have been his only option. **“I was thinking… Tomorrow?”**

The White Wolf’s heart _leapt_. How long had it been since he’d just gotten to sit down with Steve? To just… talk? Have a drink? Have a meal? When they weren’t running from something, for something or at something? Into the very jaws of death? When there was nothing snapping at their heels; no threat or malice or urgency? Brooklyn? Pre-shipping out? It had to be.

“Tomorrow.” He replied, smile immovable; not just the prospect of seeing his closest and dearest friend, but when Cody couldn’t understand why the ball kept falling off his lap each time he placed it there. “I’ll come to get you from the palace. Stay in touch, let me know when you’re due.” Arrangements petered out into affectionate, companionable silence; for anyone else, it would have been a signal to end the call. But instead: “I can’t wait to see you, Steve. We got a lotta catching up to do.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“Bucky.”_

While there should have been a pause, to allow time for her partner to wake, there wasn’t one. Hence the crux of the tired vet’s frustration.

“Yeah?”

_“I know you’re excited, and I’m delighted for you, truly, but I really need you to go to sleep, love. There’s no way you’re not tired.”_

“I _can’t,_ Els!” Kicking the blankets for the umpteenth time as he sat up; movement, of any description, seemed to be the only tonic for such anticipating restlessness. From the darkness, Elsa’s weary sigh was only partially muffled by her pillow, but too embedded in his delirium, Bucky didn’t hear it. “And I am, I’m exhausted, but tomorrow, _I’m seeing Steve!”_

 

 _“Technically, it’s today, and none of us have gotten a wink over it. Cody’s even gone back to the basket, what does that tell you?”_ A sad state of affairs, to be sure.

Ordinarily, Bucky might have felt a stab of disheartenment at the fatigue in the drawl he so utterly adored, even more so by his own suggestion. Not that night though.

“Want me to sleep on the sofa?” Yet another exhale for the pillow to absorb.

 

_“No, don’t be silly. I just need you to settle down. That’s all.”_

“Okay…” Eager to placate her as always, the ex-Winter Soldier shimmied his rear down the mattress and re-gathered the sheets, then his little vet to his chest. Her scent, her heat, just the very idea of her being there was usually enough to send the White Wolf into a solace-drenched coma. That night would be the exception. “Okay… I’m settling.”

 

_“I can’t believe Captain America is coming here tomorrow, and you won’t even let me tidy the place a bit.”_

“That’s not what he’s coming for, Els. Besides, he won’t be here for long. I’m gonna collect him from the palace, come back here to finish whatever needs to be finished, then… I dunno… Dinner maybe. Some drinks…”

 

 _“What about Tambasi…?”_ The sleepy vet suggested, tranquillized almost fully to slumber by the comforting security of being enveloped to Bucky’s torso; that affectionate connection was mutual. _“He might enjoy that.”_

“That’s kinda our thing though, isn’t it?”

 

_“I only know about Tambasi because of Shuri. We can go to the next one, take Steve tomorrow.”_

“If you’re sure.”

 

_“Yes, love. I’m sure. I’ll get my morning rounds done as soon as I can and hope for no emergencies. Do you still want a lift to the palace?”_

Lack of an arm posed its challenges, and, to his credit, Bucky rose and met most of them head-on. Safely driving a gearshift and steering was not one of them; not yet, at least. He had tried, almost to the detriment of the jeep, but despite Elsa’s encouragement and brushing aside of whatever damage might come of the vehicle, he felt it best to build up to it. Especially when Elsa only had one mode of transport, which was imperative to her work.

 

“Yeah, if you can. I’ll borrow a hover-transport from there.” Easier to drive than a normal car, believe it or not. Bucky didn’t until he tried; no gears only sweetened the experience.

_“Perfect. Keep in contact with me. Let me know when you know he’s arriving.”_ Bucky’s eyes did close, but it was little more than a temporary and automatic reaction of enjoyment at the lulling kiss to his lower jaw. The corresponding nuzzle into her hair had a similar effect on the other half of the couple. “ _Now. Are you going to sleep?”_

“I’ll sleep, baby. I promise.”

 

That promise lasted less than five minutes, possibly less, before Bucky exiled himself to the couch where he could simmer to his heart’s content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, having seen an interview with the Russo's and Sebastian Stan, it's become apparent that Steve was not only in contact with Bucky while he was in Wakanda, but also came to visit him. I think Bucky and Steve need some time to bond without anything waiting for them in the shadows!


	14. Post-War Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reason for Bucky's sleepless night arrives in Wakanda.

The Winter Soldier, and even James Barnes in his squalid Bucharest apartment, would not have taken kindly to being woken from their unguarded sleep. The intruder would have found themselves seized by the throat so he could see the light leave their eyes as he squeezed the life out of them, or so would be the worst-case scenario with the Winter Soldier. James Barnes, milder in his manner, might not have aimed to kill, but accidents do happen with a metal arm.

 

Bucky Barnes in Wakanda though… He was more than accustomed to being woken by a press of lips to his forehead. That important morning was no different.

 

_“Bucky.”_

_“Mmm…?”_ He had eventually crashed out of exhaustion, much to his partner’s bemusement as she stood over him with her hairbrush.

 

_“Up you get, love. Big day today.”_ Their designated cups waited on the table for the daily offering of morning tea and coffee while the kettle started to quake on the stove. _“I can’t believe you slept on the couch.”_

_“Mmm…”_

“Sweetheart, are you getting up?” The habitual humdrum of breakfast being made didn’t register with Bucky; nor did much else she said, in truth. “I’m leaving in a few minutes, if you want your hair put up, you need to start moving.”

 

_“Yeah…”_

“James.” That, in itself, was a signal to move and Bucky did move.

 

Slightly.

 

He wriggled.

 

_“I’m up… I’m up… I’m moving.”_

 

Again, it would not be unreasonable for the Winter Soldier or the Bucharest dwelling Barnes to assume that something being tossed at them while in bed could be a grenade, or something equally as destructive. The reaction was arguably the same for Bucky though. When he felt the small, light object hit his chest, the scatter began, but he wasn’t quick enough. Not when Cody was quicker, diving for his ball; despite the early hour.

 

**“Really?!”** He challenged, scrambling up and jerking his head to keep Cody from jamming his slobbery ball into his face.

 

“You weren’t mooooooviiiiiiing!” She sang, with a satisfied twinkle that could light up a room; to that end, how could he be angry? “Here. Coffee. Toast. I’ll do your hair, then I’ll be back as soon as my morning stops are finished.”

 

* * *

 

 

The White Wolf’s breath caught in his throat when that towering figure appeared at the top of the dropped ramp; physically Steve Rogers was imposing, but Bucky only saw the heart and soul of New York’s slowest draftee.

 

Eyes locked and decorum out the window, the jog that crunched the tarmac underfoot until they met in the middle was mutual. From there, the tight embrace spoke volumes. Love. Support. Consolation. How long did it last? Neither could be sure, neither kept count but chose to revel in it instead.

 

_“It’s so good to see you.”_ Came the strained utterance, mid-hug, into his dearest friend’s ear _. “God, I’ve missed you.”_

Embarrassment? What embarrassment? One final squeeze before two very emotional men parted, joint (and near watery) grins immovable, there was nothing shameful in it. Both modified in similar ways, one for destruction, the other for protection, represented two sides to one coin; that coin was whole again, for the first time in a long time.

 

“It’s good to see you too, Buck.” Steve beamed, eyes singing with joy while they took each other in; noting the little changes since they’d seen each other last. Steve’s beginning of a beard, Bucky’s adopted freckles and man-bun; not to mention personal growth that they would share soon. “C’mon, we got a lotta catching up to do.”

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s quaint. I like it.” There was something about the little farmhouse, its collection of outbuildings, its plot of land and the animals that called it home, that Steve found endearing. It wasn’t the only thing, not when Cody had him clocked as a new source of entertainment and the Captain was on his eighth throw. Thankfully, the heat of the Wakandan plains had abated somewhat with the mid-evening drawing in; hence the light linen that kept both men pleasantly cool.

 

“It’s not much...” Bucky replied lightly, overturning the feed bucket into the trough, the grains _dinning_ on the plastic as they hit the bottom; while it might have usually roused the girls, their noses won out in favour of the new arrival. _Keep them fed,_ Elsa said _, they won’t be destructive if they’re satisfied._ Like everything else where the animals were concerned, she was right. “But it’s home. Got everything we need.”

 

“Wow, this guy can really move!” Steve chortled, flinging the ball again until it disappeared from sight, and Cody with it.

 

“Yeah, he’s just a pup.” Steve, who had been watching Cody bound in pursuit of the ball with a hand shading his eyes, quelled a downcast ripple. It was all so idyllic, in contrast to Steve’s ducking and diving as an illegal Avenger and fugitive from his own government.

 

“Remember when we were in London…” Steve turned on his heel, thinking he wasn’t going to see the dog again for a while and made the few paces towards where Bucky re-filled the water trough. “In that pub-“

 

“The Whip and Fiddle?” Bucky finished with a crooked smile, directing his focus to the approaching shadow of Captain Rogers for a moment. _I gotta ask her if she knows it. Might be still there._ “Yeah, I remember it. Got shot down for maybe the first time in my life.”

 

“We never did find out if she had a friend.” Steve chipped in with a quirk of a sandy eyebrow before cautiously reaching down to scratch a wary William behind the ear. _“Hey, fella.”_

“No, but probably for the best. My life changed after that. I didn’t have one anymore.” It was behind him, way behind him, and had almost been made up for since; that didn’t stop him missing the lost time. He powered on though; the lost time had given him gifts of its own design. “But what about the Whip and Fiddle?”

 

“We drank, and we talked-“

 

“We’re gonna do more of both as soon as I finish up here.”

 

“We made plans for after the war.” Bucky remembered that too.

 

“Neither of us really got around to those though, did we?”

 

“Looks like you’re making a good start.” Steve offered, gesturing to the humble surroundings and parking himself on the fence while Bucky tidied equipment; clearing hazards for the animals while he wasn’t there to supervise them.

 

Tidying finished, Bucky took a moment and joined his estranged friend on the fence, overlooking what he’d come to have and love; what he wouldn’t give up for anything. The main thing, though, was nowhere to be seen. Yet.

 

“That was my thinking when I got him.” The White Wolf responded, fondly running his hand along Cody’s back as he joined them with, surprise surprise, his ball firmly lodged between his jaws. Cocking his shaggy head, Bucky regarded his companion coyly, which Steve returned. “What did we say? Marry the prettiest girl in Brooklyn? The white picket fence? The dog, the kids, the barbecues in the backyard?”

 

“You have the dog.” The blonde pointed out impishly, nodding to the mongrel who, for once, seemed distracted by something else other than the ball. Not that he relinquished it.

 

“Can always paint the fence.” Bucky agreed to a hearty chuckle from his right.

 

“What about the girl?” Cody had completely sealed himself off from them to stare across the compound to the farm’s boundary, drooling from behind the ball. Bucky took it as an indication and something of an answer to Steve’s question.

 

“Been a long time since I was in Brooklyn, pal.”

 

“And the girls are very different there now, trust me. What’s up with him?”

 

The ex-Winter Soldier knew exactly why Cody’s high-pitched whine started to carry from around the ball, why his ears pricked to attention, why his tail stood tall and his unwavering, unblinking gaze never left the road. Crossing his right hand to his left shoulder to mimic Steve’s crossed arms, Bucky savoured the answer.

 

“The vet’s coming.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I thought dogs didn’t like vets.” Steve mused, watching Cody absolutely _lose his reason_ when a battered jeep (reminiscent of their army days) pulled up and **_crunched_** , as if it shared an age with the ones they used to navigate all sorts of terrain in. The mutt skittered around the outside of the vehicle, his whimper seemingly unending and his grip on the ball unclenching.

 

“Yeah, but he’s weird.” The blonde didn’t question it but accepted it with a stretch of his lip and an incline of his head to match. Until the vet actually got out of the jeep. “And… y’know… She saved his life about two weeks ago.” Naturally, it went deeper than that.

 

“ **That’s** the vet?” Steve interrogated, rounding on Bucky, who simpered back:

 

“That’s the vet.”

 

_“Hey, Monkey Boy!”_ Came the adoring coo from several metres down the drive, the one Cody’s yowls corresponded to, the one he skipped and jumped to. _“What are you doing? Are you behaving? Were you minding the place? Aren’t you just the best?!”_

The little vet already knew she was being watched. But, with the learned Wakandan strut, hip bounce and ponytail swinging, she made for the source of the intrigue without qualm or question.

 

**“Keeping busy, I see?!”** She called on approach, eyebrows raised in teasing and just about visible behind her sunglasses. What Bucky had divulged as of yet, she couldn’t be sure, but judging by the bewildered (familiar and unfamiliar) blonde on the fence, she could assume not very much. So, letting him take the lead seemed like the most sensible thing.

 

**“I’m always busy!”** He retorted, negotiating his slide from the fence flawlessly to meet her halfway; enhanced agility was not exclusive to the Winter Soldier. Cue an intensifying in Steve’s perplexed curiosity, his mind navigating the suggestions unravelling before him.

 

**“Doesn’t look like it!”** The jibe was no sooner out of her mouth and the one-armed farmer was upon her, with a different purpose for her mouth. Naturally, this time was no different from any other, so when Bucky’s lips found hers, she responded the way she always did.

 

_“Show-off.”_ She taunted softly, recuperating her stolen breath with a farm-toned arm keeping her waist. _“Marking your territory?”_

_“Maybe tonight.”_

_“Depends on when you get home. I’m not waiting up. Also, I’d like to point out, you chose your method of keeping me up last night, and it wasn’t **that.”**_

****

_“Wait, was that on the table?”_

_“You’re insatiable.”_

_“Can’t blame a guy for tryin’.”_

_“Behave yourself, James; we have company.”_ Chancing a peek behind her partner with playful smugness, Elsa spied the utterly mystified Captain Rogers still seated on the fence. _“Poor boy, he’s terribly confused.”_

 

_“”Boy”? He’s old enough to be your grandfather.”_

_“Didn’t you say you’re older than him?”_

_“Way to ruin the Goddamn mood, Els. Jesus.”_ Elsa pulled back with the most delightful titters of joviality and taking Bucky’s hand as she did.

 

“The vet, huh?” Steve berated, light-heartedly, as he, too, descended from the fence to converge on the pair. If Bucky had been elated before this surprise arrival, it had increased tenfold by now; maybe the Captain felt another pensive prickle at his friend’s bliss.

 

“If he said I’m just “the vet”, he’s sleeping on his own tonight.” The tiny female (who came to below Bucky’s shoulder) informed the nearing newcomer with a tongue-in-cheek bite of confidence. The humour, it seemed, was very much infectious, but Steve never forgot his manners and inclined his head in the usual reverence for a lady.

 

“Ma’am.” Then, with roguish incredulity geared towards his friend: “Could’a told me.”

 

“Would’ve ruined the surprise.” Bucky rebuffed with similar amusement, while Elsa removed her glasses to take in the reason for her turbulent night’s sleep.

 

“Captain Steve Rogers…” Puffing his chest with bubbling pride, the White Wolf swiped a simmering, excited look between the two most important people in his life; no matter how recent. “Doctor Elsa Kincaid.” The knowing look between the two ex-soldiers lingered; before Bucky added something that Steve would understand, but Elsa would not: “The prettiest girl in Brooklyn.”


	15. Return to Tambasi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky brings Steve to one of the highlights of Wakandan life - The Tambasi Market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needed to break up the chapters a bit.

“Don’t wait up.”

 

“Oh, believe me, I won’t.” Elsa received and returned the parting kiss from above before her partner pulled back, opting to press his forehead to hers; a gesture of deepest affection and self-solace. “An early night for me after last night, I think.”

 

“I’ll try not to wake you.”

 

“It’s Cody I’d prefer you didn’t wake. Do you have the key to the apartment? In case Steve needs it?”

 

“Yeah, I got it. But I think he’s planning on sleeping in the jet…” Bucky took the light tap of his little vet’s open palm to his chest; another signal, even if she wasn’t _entirely_ finished with her somewhat worried parting.

 

“Go on then, don’t keep Captain Rogers waiting. Have fun. Make sure you eat-”

 

“I’ll eat, I promise.”

 

“Be careful, and I’ll see you in the morning.” One last peck and Elsa found herself relinquished in favour of Captain Steve Rogers.

 

* * *

 

 

The unassuming picnic table on a slight incline, out of the way but with enough of a view, housed something of a sombre conversation. Tambasi and its joviality went on without them, leaving them in their sombre bubble.

 

Initially, Steve had been as enraptured by it as Bucky had been, the smells, the sights, the atmosphere of laid-back enjoyment radiating from every patron; before they settled with food from one of the many vendors and the hard questions began.

 

“So, what happened after you left me here?”

 

Steve simply sighed as he played with his food, somewhere to put his energy while he gathered his thoughts.

 

“The Avengers, as they were, are gone.” He admitted after a moment or two of guilty silence. The image of his team, the ones who fought by his side on the airstrip, in a maximum-security prison in the middle of the ocean still haunted him. “Everyone that fought with us in Germany was arrested; Wanda, Scott, Clint, Sam…” Perhaps Bucky deserved the stab of blame for that too. Those were good people, standing for freedom; his especially when they sacrificed their own to accommodate his escape. “All branded common criminals.”

 

The White Wolf relieved his lips and tongue with a mouthful of water; their dryness nothing to do with the sun or the heat. Culpability, perhaps. He, too, toyed with his food, before the next dreaded inquiry.

 

“And Stark?”

 

Steve hesitated, another sip, another delay tactic. Bucky felt it; the pain abundantly clear. While they had been reunited, Steve had lost more than he’d gained with Bucky partially to blame. There had been love there, he’d seen it in Siberia before Zemo played that damning footage; the result was love and trust decimated in an instant. Stark had accepted his innocence of the Vienna bombing and there had been a real chance of all of them walking out of there as friends, T’Challa included, but it was not to be.

 

“We haven’t spoken since Siberia, after he arrested the others.” Understandable. “I’ve reached out though… I mean, not all hope is lost. Maybe he just needs time.”

 

Perhaps it was too intense a conversation for dinner time, particularly in the fun-drenched atmosphere of Tambasi but with Steve’s clear suffering, Bucky could not let it go unaddressed. He owed it to him, if nothing else. If anyone knew the value of verbally unloading (especially in the last month or so), it was Bucky.

 

“Where are they now?”

 

“C’mon, Buck, I wasn’t gonna leave ‘em there.” What else could be expected from the loyal Captain America? “I got ‘em out. Wanda and Sam stayed with me, Clint and Scott went, and I can’t blame ‘em, they have families. But… like I said about reachin’ out, myself and Nat are solid, Wanda and Vision have their secret meetings that they think we don’t know about-“

 

“The… The red guy?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“It’s not perfect. Far from it but…” Steve’s fair head dipped, seemingly re-immersing himself in his food but his carton contained more or less the same amount as when he’d gotten it. “I knew what I was doing. We all did. Prison might’a been temporary, but I’d rather they didn’t have to go through it at all.”

 

“Sounds like I came out the best of it.” The visitor didn’t argue the point and Bucky didn’t draw attention to it by offering any further.

 

“Zemo was arrested.” He went on, changing the subject slightly but staying under the umbrella of context. “Last I heard, he’d taken over your box in Berlin.”

 

“Good, he can keep it. Son of a bitch.” Bucky retorted, the restriction of the short-term prison for his questioning not missed in the least.

 

In that small, token jab of humour, the blonde felt his lips pull towards his cheekbones; only then did he acknowledge a renewal in his appetite. The “hot dog” as Bucky had called it, was as good as his friend said: _Try it, I swear to God, it’s better than anything I ever had in Brooklyn._

 

The reunion, like the soda, was sweet; maybe with a semi-bitter tang that they could swallow and forget. The music from below, the mixture of aromas, the tastes from their chosen dishes, and most importantly, each other. The unfortunate issues needed to be addressed, but with them out of the way, the Brooklyn pair could begin to enjoy something they had gone without for some seventy years.

 

“C’mon, eat up.” Bucky, having spent enough time revelling in the food-orientated but companionable silence, urged; emptying his bottle of water and making a conscious effort of clearing his carton. “I promised her I’d eat; you saw me, I ate. Now, I know we can’t get drunk anymore, but that ain’t gonna stop us tryin’. Let’s go.”


	16. The Prettiest Girl in Brooklyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve begins his interrogation about the vet, as only a best friend would.

“Well…?”

 

Two beers might have been enough to floor pre-serum Steve, but pre-serum Bucky would have seen it as little more than a warmup. So, now, two beers in and feeling nothing, was hardly surprising. For either male. That still didn’t clarify Steve’s impish question.

 

“Well, what?” Drunk? Certainly not. Merry? Absolutely, but not by means of alcohol; simply the exuberance behind the reuniting of two Brooklyn boys.

 

“You gonna tell me about her?” Bucky’s sudden shy redirection of his gaze and coy smile revealed far more than he intended; much to Steve’s delight. “C’mon, I came all this way. I know she’s part’a the reason you’re doin’ so good.”

 

“I think she’s nearly all of the reasons.” The White Wolf confessed, caving without much poking; knowing there was nothing to be gained by holding out. Sitting back in his chair, Bucky chin angled for the ceiling of the bar; not unlike the one the Howling Commandos had gathered in. He chose his words carefully; to be able to pick this apart would be freeing, and who better to be the first to hear it than his brother in all but blood?

 

“She’s… God, how do I describe her… It’s like… It’s almost like she’s too good to be true, y’know?” Brow furrowed, his gaze dropped to the table and his features dropping with it in thought; absentmindedly, a tear of condensation on his glass was wiped. Concerned but attentive, Steve shuffled his elbows on the table, still clutching his own glass.

 

“I keep thinking, one day I’m gonna hear her on the phone, speaking in Russian and telling whoever’s on the other end that she has the Winter Soldier.” Insane, of course, but with a delicate mind like Bucky’s, fear was still a primary emotion. “That I’m a mission, or an assignment. Deep cover.”

 

“Buck, I don’t think-“

 

“No, it’s crazy, I know but… You gotta understand, Steve…” Even in the dim light of the tavern, the blonde detected that awkward grimace; an internal struggle for phrasing. It had been mind-churning enough to realize and come to terms with these things, then putting them into words for someone else. “I’m cured, but I’m not healed. That’s gonna take a long time, if it happens at all.”

 

“What does she know?”

 

“Everything. Right down to JFK. Weird conversation to have.”

 

“Sounds serious.”

 

“She’s gotten me through nightmares.” He divulged conversationally, unfazed by the thought of judgement; not that there would be any, of course. Not when Steve understood as well as Elsa did. “Tiny and all as she is, she’s managed to lump my ass on the couch in the middle of the night so she can change the sheets after a bout of night sweats. She’s held my hair and rubbed my back while I puked from the trauma of what my own mind replays when I close my eyes. She’ll lie there with me and kiss me and hold me till I stop shaking. The Hydra programming is gone, but it’s left so much scarring behind…”

 

 “She could’ve ran; the night I told her everything, and I wouldn’t’ve blamed her, would’ve called it quits there and then but… she stayed. She still stays. How could I not think there’s something else going on?”

 

A fair concern that (to a much lesser degree) Steve found himself sharing. It was difficult to find love without fearing an ulterior motive in the other person; no matter how Natasha taunted him about paranoia and over-cautiousness. Could a possible partner only be interested in the fame of being seen romantically with Captain America? He’d already been infiltrated by a potential lover when Sharon Carter revealed herself as a SHIELD agent, and well adept at keeping secrets. One could argue that hadn’t stopped him, but it still laid the precedent that he could be infiltrated; if SHIELD could do it to protect him, what was to stop someone more sinister to harm him?

“For what it’s worth, Buck-“ The younger of the two began (not that age factored anymore) with an easing gentility. “I saw her. I saw the two of you. She’s as crazy about you as you are about her. And-!” Re-adopting his brightness to revert the conversation to its original playfulness, Steve jabbed a finger across the table with a grin that became infectious. “You think I couldn’t hear you two? That’s no spy! Natasha Romanoff, the Black Goddamn Widow, is one of my best friends and she doesn’t tell me to eat! She _definitely_ wouldn’t be giving me the key to her apartment so my friend, who she had never met, had somewhere to sleep!”

 

Fair points, all of them and, Bucky suspected Steve had heard more while parked on the fence than he let on but, for decency’s sake, chose not to broach it.

 

“So…” The blonde poked again, keeping the puckish air alive and sucking Bucky into it too. “Tell me about The Prettiest Girl in Brooklyn-“

 

“Who’s never been to Brooklyn.”

 

“See… That… That’s just proving my point! C’mon! Out with it!”

 

“A’right, a’right! Keep your tights on!” Where to even start? A sip of cold beer, if only to bring Steve down a peg or two, seemed like a perfect beginning; and judging by the waggish tut from across the table, he was successful. Eventually, he put him out of his misery.

 

“When I came out of cryostasis, there was debate about what to do with me. In the end, they settled on giving me a vacant plot of land about half an hour from the palace and let me work it. Never worked a farm in my life but… try anything once, right?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“And, hey, if they’d told me they wanted to train me to the King’s Guard, I would’ve gone with it outta gratitude but, I didn’t want that anymore. I’ve had so much violence and enough of weapons, Steve, I wanted anything but. So, I took the farm with both hands. Well… Maybe not _both_ hands but-“ The wheeze of laughter from the other side of the table triggered Bucky too and reduced him to a huffing titter. _“You know what I mean!”_

 

_“Yeah, I getcha!”_

“So, the farm was one thing, I was getting the hang of it.” Cue another indulgent mouthful of the foamy goodness that Steve copied to ease the tickle the laughter caused; it still lingered in every word. “Then the goats show up. Six of ‘em. One of ‘em’s pregnant, didn’t know that till after. “Someone’ll be in touch about getting them assessed”, didn’t think any more on it.”

 

_“Christ, this keeps getting better...!”_

“There I am, minding my own business, fixing the fence to keep the goats outta the Goddamn vegetable patch when I hear this engine, see? I knew nothing else till she’s standing behind me.”

 

“James Barnes”, she calls me and for a second, I thought she was talkin’ to someone else. “Are you James Barnes?” And I’m like: “Shit, she’s talkin’ to me, who the hell is this?” Now, when I turn around and see this little thing, who tells me she’s the vet, I remember where I am. No one’s tryna kill me. So, I point her in the direction of the enclosures and off she goes.”

 

It was funny, looking back on it; and additionally entertaining by sharing it with the one person who he would want to share it with. _This_ was the epitome of what they had missed, both separately and together, by the cruel twist of fate in the Alps that night. Talking, drinking, giving the other the more intimate details of his life that he hadn’t been there to experience with him; and in an ideal world, Steve would have been there holding the fence when the vet arrived. Maybe harass his friend to such an extent that Bucky would have _had_ to speak to her. If she didn’t choose Captain America over the scraggly White Wolf.

 

“Got on with what I was doing, then take a break for lunch.” He continued his recount with the mutual high spirits still in the air. Were they sure about the alcohol? About its non-effect? Maybe they were just that pleased and relieved to see each other; elated by the catch-up. “Then she comes back, ‘bout an hour later, and asks me what I know about _goat midwifery.”_

_“Goat midwifery?!”_

“Yeah, I thought she was screwing me with me too. That’s when she drops the bomb that one of the goats is with kid and I need to know what to do. Now, in her defence, I wasn’t the nicest about it-“

 

“What? Brooklyn’s biggest smart ass?! No way!”

 

“Yeah, I might’a got feisty but my God, she got feisty right back. Girl’s got a backbone of Vibranium.”

 

“That do somethin’ for you, Buck?”

 

“Hey, that’s my girl. Keep it clean.”

 

“Sorry.” Hands raised in playful and faux surrender, they knew each other well enough, despite the break in contact, not to take it seriously. Not that it had been a legitimate admonishment or apology in reply; the joint grin assured each of that. “Go on. _Goat midwifery_ … _!_ ”

 

“After that… I had to start crawling.” Steve, who had been about to wet his mouth with another sip, paused his glass; the well-Googled features melting into confusion. Bucky, again, let him wait and the suspense build. “Had to call her. Emergency. Constipated goat.” And that, those last two words in particular, crumbled the decorated hero into chest-ruffling snickers; the theme of the conversation since they sat down in the tavern.

 

_“Jesus, Buck.”_

 

“We were fine after that! Well… She was fine. I couldn’t look her in the eye, speak to her properly or stand too close. That’s when it all kicked off, and I didn’t have a clue that she was feeling the same thing. Until the shit _almost_ hit the fan.”

 

Bucky sat back once more, reminding himself of what he was about to impart still sent ripples of cringe through his entire being; _how could I have been so stupid?!_ But… It was over and everything had turned out as well as it could possibly have.

 

“The night of my naturalization came-“

 

“Your citizenship?”

 

“Mmhmm. Outta my depth doesn’t even come close to what I was, so I bailed for the balcony and… she was there. Like I’d never seen her before. I’d never seen her in a dress, never seen her hair down, never seen her with make-up, and I just…”

 

“Went for it?”

 

“Huh. No. The opposite.” The confusion, dreading confusion, niggled at Steve’s sunny demeanour. Perhaps that was the most natural, obvious and straightforward course of events, but when had anything ever been straightforward for Bucky? “No… She uhh… Granted, she’d had a bit to drink but… She asked me could she kiss me-“

 

“And?!”

 

“I got my back up and stormed off.”

 

_“Buck?!”_ Steve hissed, horrified, _scandalized_. _“Why?!”_

“Because-“ Inhaling another endeared laugh at his companion’s incredulity, Bucky had already put this particular set of reservations to bed, and Elsa had declared them null and void. “Before I was worried about her being a Russian spy, I was worried about not being good enough.” The silent dumbfounded glare was enough to prompt him further.

 

“In my head, it was a cruel joke; a lead-on. Think about it. What would a girl, who comes from a good, wealthy, medical family, want with a one-armed, assassin-turned-farmer?” No viable answer to the rhetorical question so he went on. “This strong, beautiful, intelligent girl; who, the more time I spent with her, I got to know just how incredible she was. What could I possibly offer her that thousands more, a hundred times better than me, couldn’t?”

 

_“Okay… So… What happened?”_

“A few days later, Connie went into labour. And, instead of calling the person who she knows and trusts to get her through it directly, I called dispatch to send someone else, anyone else. They sent Elsa anyway. I swear to God, I still say it was fate.”

 

“Awkward?”

 

“Pal, you got no idea. I thought I was gonna keel over when I heard that Goddamn jeep.” In typical New Yorker fashion, the White Wolf (as he was known in these parts) inched up in his chair and signalled to the barman: _two more over here._ “So, she comes; doesn’t even look at me; which, I hold my hands up, I admit, I was an ass. She gets Connie through the labour; you met William.” He offered as an aside, to which Steve nodded distractedly. “I stood there and watched her take care of her; the way she spoke to her, comforted her, held her… And for a minute, I forgot that I’d spent the past few days resenting her for something she didn’t do and had no intention of doing; it was all in my head.”

 

Bucky drained his glass for it to be taken away and replaced with a full one; just in time too. Steve did the same, and while they both edged into their third beer, the pair might as well have been drinking water.

 

“Just before she leaves… She starts apologising. It’s long, it’s painful and it’s _deep._ It’s about then that it kicks in that _I’m_ the one who owes _her_ the apology; but before I can even get a word in, she takes it back. Every word and goes for the jugular.” The memory of it, the incredulous accusations, the raised voices; in essence: their first fight. The first fight that defused everything and cleared the air for the most blissful month he’d ever experienced; like the sweet, clean air after a storm.

 

“No kidding, Steve: There was a mushroom cloud over the Goddamn farm. We really went for each other; got all up in each other’s faces, a whole lotta yelling, a whole lotta stupidity and I caved first.”

 

“Caved-?”

 

“I kissed her.” Just then, Captain Rogers got the happy ending he’d been hoping for; obvious from the contagious beam that Bucky found worming its way into his cheeks too. “I think I did it to shut her up, panicked halfway through and froze. Something T’Challa and I apparently have in common when it comes to women.”

 

“And the rest, as they say, is history. She got me a dog. And chickens.” Bucky’s glass rose to meet the other already hovering in mid-air; the resulting _clink_ marked a celebration, a congratulatory gesture.

 

“I’m happy for you, Buck.” With all the legitimacy and genuineness in the world, the twinkle in Steve’s eyes, that carried into his smile, hadn’t changed since Brooklyn, in seventy years. “Really, you sound like you have it all wrapped up.”

 

“If I never see war or battle again, I’ll die a happy man, Steve. And I do intend to die; not too soon, but eventually. When I’m old and gross.” The blonde could appreciate that too. He and Bucky, almost exclusive in their circumstance, had seen and done more than most with their stolen time; some good, some bad. “No more cryostasis for me; in and out of a freezer to keep me as I am was Hydra’s way, not mine. We’re meant to die, and I’m gonna do just that but when my time is up, and I’ve lived some sort of life. If that’s with Elsa, even better.”

 

“Y’know what? I think I can get on board with that. I just have one more question though.” Curiosity piqued; Bucky’s shaggy head tilted in a silent invitation to proceed; glass lifted and poised to just below his chin. That cheeky, mischievous glimmer from across the table should have been enough to suggest that, despite the slightly morbid undertones, the revelry was far from over. “Has she got a friend?”


	17. Getting to Know You - Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Bucky sleeps off the night before, Steve and Elsa get to know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was long so I needed to split it up.

On a normal day and in a normal situation, the only time Elsa heard her own jeep was when she was goading the brute through the terrain herself. That, on that glorious sunny Sunday morning, was not the case. Yes, standing there while the freshly released goats began chomping through their breakfast, it was hardly a mystery how Cody, the goats and even her partner knew when her arrival home was imminent. Fully dressed, and mostly awake, her hand lifted to her forehead to shade her eyes as she directed her gaze to the apparent source.

 

There was no mistaking it, that near-authentic rumble, made possible by superior technology. Should someone lift the bonnet, they would find a similar mechanism to what ran the hover-transport; no non-renewable fuel, no fumes. The jeep’s power source mirrored the same one that sat in front of the farm while her jeep was nowhere to be found. Until now.

 

 **“A good thing I didn’t need that this morning!”** The vet called, as amiable and easy-going as Bucky had painted her the night before, to someone she hadn’t really had much interaction with; despite the shared importance they held for one person in particular. When Steve killed the engine, she had already started her strutting approach.

 

“He said you wouldn’t mind.” The blonde replied with his usual, good-natured charm, clambering from the battered ex-army jeep and straightening in respect for the little brunette; like any lady he ever encountered. “Brought back some memories, I gotta tell ya.” Naturally, ever so considerate, he added: “Hope I didn’t cause any problems.” Elsa’s cordiality suggested otherwise.

 

“No, not at all. Sunday is my only day off, emergencies aside, but tell that to my body clock.” That drawl (not unlike his beloved Peggy’s) carried the coyest undercurrents of warm, welcoming amusement; if Steve couldn’t pick it up from her expression alone when they finally drew even. “Captain Rogers.”

 

“Doctor Kincaid.”

 

“Elsa.”

 

“Steve.”

 

With their own introductions nailed down and mutually, graciously received (Bucky’s had been somewhat doubly enamoured), Elsa’s bustling hospitality kicked in.

 

“A pleasure, Steve. Coffee?”

 

* * *

 

 

Such constant and sublime weather as that of Wakanda would be wasted without an outdoor dining set, and that is where the vet and the Captain found themselves with their respective morning beverages; and a shared jug of water, naturally. The White Wolf (as inquiry revealed) slept on with Cody and so, Elsa and Steve took it as an opportunity to get to know each other. Not just for Bucky’s sake, but what’s not to like about another friend?

 

“…But I’m really enjoying the place. I didn’t really get to look around the last time I was here…” Steve confessed, under Elsa’s attentive surveyance, restraining himself from a third slice of breakfast cake; a local custom. “When the decision was made, and I had to leave without him, I guess I just wanted to get outta here.”

 

“I don’t think I need to tell you that we’re both exceptionally grateful that you did. Bring him here, I mean.” She chipped in solemnly, said gratitude clear as she lowered her cup. The night previous, he’d already assured Bucky that, from where he stood, Elsa was as smitten as he was. That sincerity was hammered home for the blonde in the gentle features sitting opposite him. “We are still somewhat… _secret…_ but I don’t think I could be without him now.”

 

“Yeah, I think that’s pretty much how he feels.” Steve didn’t bother to address just how _much_ of an understatement that was; not when he’d already caved and helped himself to that third slice. _I’m on vacation, right?_ “I don’t think you need to worry ‘bout feelings not being mutual. We had a long talk last night; long story short: you’re solid. And I gotta say: I’ve never seen him like this, and I couldn’t be happier for him.”

 

“I won’t ask you to break the _bro-code_.” She teased, that had him chuckling into his coffee, then giving her own tea a swirl. “But I’m glad you approve. He values your opinion more highly than anyone else’s.”

 

“I always looked up to him. Literally.” It wasn’t the memory of the umpteen back alley fights that pulled a smile into Steve’s cheeks, rather how Bucky had a habit of turning up at the last second before it got _really_ ugly. “Pre-serum, he was my guardian angel; I swear, it’s like he looked around for the weediest, skinniest kid in Brooklyn, found me and said to himself: “I’ll take that one.” I dunno what drew him to me but whatever it was, I’m glad it did.”

 

“That makes two of us.”

 

“Oh… Before I forget…” The blonde sat forward, digging in his pockets for something while his tongue stuck out comically in effort and concentration at the side. “It’s here, gimme a sec…” Then, he managed to uproot it: the little silver key to Elsa’s apartment. “Really appreciated a real bed. I don’t think the one on the jet was designed for an actual person.”

 

“But… You’re staying until tomorrow morning. You’ll need it again tonight.”

 

“I don’t wanna impose…”

 

Cue the sceptical click of a tongue from across the table, paired with an unwavering and intense scrutiny; there was the spine of Vibranium Bucky had told him about, but also the exceptional lengths she would go to for someone else. He got the feeling that _I don’t wanna impose_ was going to cut it.

 

“Steve, you’re not ruining your back in the jet while there is a vacant, perfectly good bed in the apartment. Hold onto the key, please.” He did so with relief, and a gratified nod from behind the rim of her teacup. It may have been the most subtle and civilized threat Steve had ever received, but it was a threat, nonetheless.

 

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Palming it in one hand, he lifted his coffee with the other before another _before I forget_ struck. “I uhh… I signed for a package too. I should’ve brought it-“

 

“Oh!” Almost spilling her tea with her jolt, Elsa appeared not to notice; not with the excitement the early arrival had inspired in the little vet. “Already?! I just ordered it; I didn’t expect it so soon!” No wonder Bucky found her so endearing, Steve saw it too. “Things I ordered from home; you see. Believe it or not, your Brooklyn friend has become rather partial to breakfast tea. Hence the need to order it more frequently.”

 

“You’re right, I wouldn’t’ve.” Steve’s (and Elsa’s) benevolent amusement ran through the conversation and its interactions like a vein; pumping ease and gentility into every word and micro movement like blood and oxygen. Until… “Care package from your folks?”

 

If there had been a falter in the sunny, airy demeanour opposite him before, Captain Rogers hadn’t noticed. Now… He couldn’t help it, not when it was blatant and prompted an immediate urge to take it back.

 

“Ah. No. No, it’s not.” Well reared, it had been drilled into Elsa that she should look at someone when she spoke to them; meet their eye or simply grant them the courtesy of watching their expression. She had done just that up until then, and much to Steve’s dejected curiosity, those eyes of sapphire drifted to the side. “My mother died when I was a child. And my father is hardly the kind to send care packages. He doesn’t even know where I am.”

 

Try as he might, the First Avenger couldn’t seem to comprehend it; he didn’t hide the fact either. How could someone be so disconnected from their _own child_ not to know where they were? Sure, Steve’s childhood (and others like him) was spent on his own devices from dawn till dusk… But at least his mother knew where to find him.

 

“He doesn’t know-?”

 

“He thinks I’m in Nigeria. Which, officially speaking, I am supposed to be, that is where my designated visa is for, but he knows nothing beyond that. Which suits me, and I will keep it that way if I can.” Only then did it dawn on Steve that Elsa, like Bucky, had a deeper reason for her geography that extended to more than just the weather.

 

“He the reason you’re here?” The bite of reluctance that followed spoke volumes; but, ever the gentleman, Steve was patient.

 

“Partially.” _Might as well…_ She thought, conceding and choosing the words best suited to illustrating her circumstances. _If Bucky trusts him, I can too._ Wetting her mouth for one hell of a confession, Elsa allowed herself a thought-gathering sigh first. “I… Prior to coming here… I was engaged to be married.”

 

Steve blinked back the stunned surprise and restrained the muscles that might draw it into his features. _That_ he had not been expecting.

 

“As I’m sure you can guess, that engagement came to an abrupt end before I came here; and yes, Bucky knows all about it. He became somewhat… _irate…_ by the revelation.”

 

Intrigued, and maybe a little perturbed by the dent in her mood, the blonde sat forward with the simmering injustice that tended to get him into trouble. He doubted Bucky reacted badly to Elsa being engaged before, he adored her far too much for that; perhaps it _was_ cause for concern if his friend responded so adversely.

 

“I take it he was stupid?” Steve’s forehead crinkled at the brief, humourless laugh that greeted his question; referring to her fiancé. Or rather… ex-fiancé.

 

“No.” She replied, finding focus on the breakfast cake; as if to cut a slice and have it might distract her from the _glaring_ oversight and the surge of cheek-pinkening embarrassment almost two years old. “No, he was rather clever. I was the stupid one, I’m afraid.”

 

“He was playin’ around?”

 

“Not that I know of. Though if he was, I would most likely have been the last to know. It’s not the reason the relationship terminated, if that’s what you’re asking.” _Just spit it out, Els. Stop tiptoeing around it. It’s over and done with, he’s asking out of solidarity._ “He and my father, a very esteemed surgeon and chief of medicine at the London Bridge Hospital, became rather close during our relationship; _the ideal son in law_ , he called him on more than one occasion. Before I knew it, he was firmly under my father’s wing and I was tossed onto the rubbish pile. See what I mean about clever?”

 

Whether it was outrage, protest or both, Steve couldn’t be sure, but he made a noise; a strangled combination of the two. Elsa, graciously, did not draw attention to it. Instead, she went on to rub salt into the wound; her own and that of her new friend.

 

“When I told my father, he simply shrugged his shoulders and asked me: What did you expect? After all, what could such an up-and-coming, brilliant young surgeon want with a _vet?_ ” Did Steve even realize his mouth hung agape with scandal? With outright offence? “He all but applauded his underhandedness and his ingenuity; told me it would bring him far in such a, pardon the ironic pun, cutthroat career path. As if that was going to make me feel better. In short, Steve, my father chose his weasel of a protégé over his own daughter.”

 

Maybe it was a mercy that the near centenarian didn’t get a chance to respond. _How could someone be so **cold**?! So **cruel**?! So **removed** from one of the (supposedly) most precious things life can give?! _The horrified fury was plain in his face, despite never voicing it. Even without doing so, Elsa seemed to pre-empt his disgust and railroaded him accordingly; conversationally, almost. She had already come to terms with it, even if Bucky’s string of New York Brand profanities by that point in the story had been both impressive and creative.

 

“My father, as you may have gathered by now, Captain, is _extremely_ career orientated; elitist, almost. I have three half-brothers, all significantly older than myself, all followed in his footsteps; so, you can imagine how sore of a disappointment it was for his only daughter to become a mere veterinarian.”

 

 _“Mere veterinarian…?”_ He repeated in a hiss, affronted on her behalf; prompting a contemptuous leer from the little vet. Scornful of her own situation and the way she had been treated but resilient with time, healing and improvement in her circumstance, Elsa’s previous upset had evaporated to strength. _“But that’s… **insane**!” _A vet, to Steve (and everyone else, most likely) was not only a wonderful job in all aspects, but massively fulfilling; if a touch demanding. It was not for the fainthearted, the dense, the dispassionate or the flaky. Elsa was none of these things, so _why_ or _how_ could someone reduce it to anything other than a God-given vocation? A calling? Not something to bring shame on a family, or a suggestion of _settling_ when she could have done better.

“Your language is a lot less colourful than Bucky’s was when I told him.”

 

“Oh, I’m cookin’ up some doozies right now!”

 

 **“You are behaving like a child, Elsa!”** She mimicked the scolding, exaggeratedly deepened and enormously unflattering; much to Steve’s incredulous amusement. **“It is most unbecoming! It is dreadfully unladylike!”** Breaking herself from the repetition of one of the last interactions she’d had with her father, the brunette fell into disgruntlement instead. “Do I look like a bloody lady to you? They have the easy job; their patients can tell them where the pain is or if their condition has improved or not. Try doing my job.”

 

“Yours can’t talk; you have to rely on skill instead of a voice.” He agreed placidly, to which Elsa raised her teacup in appreciative salute. Yes, she could see why Bucky was so fond of this one.

 

“Thank you! Yes! But who wants to help animals when you can help the unscrupulous and corrupt elite and line your pockets exceptionally well for it? And, that one time that he never lets us forget, royalty?”

_Christ,_ Steve thought, flabbergasted by the very idea. _Talk about suffocating. Talk about **pressure.**_

****

“I was told I was useless.” She went on haughtily, so accustomed and friendly with the grievance that it simply slid off her like water off a duck’s back. “Useless like my mother, apparently; and it was possibly the greatest compliment he ever gave me, comparing me to her.”

 

The question burned but the blonde hesitated; maybe it was _a tad_ insensitive but… as they were being open and frank with each other, surely it couldn’t hurt?

 

“Guess he wouldn’t’ve approved of Bucky?” He inquired slowly; testing and assessing. The dubious stretch of Elsa’s lip was probably enough of an answer, but well bred, she would always answer to the best of her ability.

 

“I think he would have.” Steve indulged in that spark of hope a little too quickly before she snatched it away and doused it (unintentionally) callously. “In the sense that he, at some point, might have petitioned to have the Winter Soldier deployed for some nefarious business of his own. That’s the only instance that I can think of that my father would _ever_ approve of my Bucky.”

 

Perhaps, given what he’d just learned, Steve should have seen that coming. He certainly shouldn’t have been surprised. And Elsa opted to make it worse.

 

“He’s powerful, he’s ruthless, and I have absolutely no doubt that he has the connections and the money to make such a horrible thing come true. Thankfully, the Winter Soldier is no longer available for hire.” Speaking of which… The mere mention of the brainwashed shell that had become her partner brought an overhaul of the sweeter kind; the kind Steve had arrived to. “Bucky rightly points out though, that when it comes to shit back-stories, he’s still winning. I have to concede to that.”

 

“He told you all about it, huh?”

 

“He did.”

 

“It’s not everyone would stick around after that.”

 

“He told me that too. And I’m still here.”

 

“He’s lucky.”

 

“Or I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Do review!


	18. Getting to Know You - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Bucky sleeps off the night before, Steve and Elsa get to know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two!

Steve swallowed and indulged in another sip of (cooling) coffee that he didn’t necessarily want. Like the night before, at Tambasi, it was a delay tactic while he gathered the gall and the strength or ask (or answer) a deep question.

 

“How’d you feel about it?”

 

It seemed that ploy was not exclusive to Captain Rogers; not when Doctor Kincaid employed something similar in swirling her tea, her eyes following every circular swish the liquid made. Another sigh, a lift of sapphire so bright Steve had never seen it’s like before and a cautious glance to the front door preluded something secretive; a toying of _should I, or shouldn’t I._

“I would prefer if you didn’t divulge this to Bucky.”

 

Steve had no loyalty to Elsa, she understood and expected as much; his timeline with Bucky _far_ outstretched hers. But… It seemed like natural progression to trust this new source; this literal embodiment of kindness, gentility and justice. Said source tilted over the table, resting on his arm and radiated compassionate attention. But he said nothing; neither accepted, nor rejected.

 

“The night he told me everything… After we-“ Privacy and decency dictated Elsa’s sudden drop in the flow of her explanation; Steve’s knowing grin and coy silence cued the awkward clearing of the little vet’s throat. “After he fell asleep…” Skipping the details that she was sure the hardly innocent Captain America could fill in only made sense. “I did a little research of my own. Into the Winter Soldier.”

 

“Your colleague, Natasha Romanoff, leaked Hydra files to the public not long after your and Bucky’s very public tiff in the middle of Washington.” When she met no resistance, reaction or surprise, she went on. “By the time I got to it, the vast majority of it had already been decrypted and translated, if necessary, and strewn all over the internet. Most of it didn't interest me, my search was trained only on the Winter Soldier.”

 

“Naturally, given the supposedly illusive nature of the Winter Soldier as a general rule, non-Hydra sources were like hen’s teeth… Rare.” She clarified patiently, when it looked like she had lost Steve to confusion for a moment. “And it seems you were the first of his targets to put up enough of a fight to bring him out into the open. For any sort of footage to be captured.”

 

“Washington.”

 

“And who said you were just a pretty face?”

 

“ _Go on_...” He urged through the ribbons of a chortle, despite the seriousness of the topic.

 

“Between news footage and phone footage from onlookers, it’s hard to place him. But I got snatches.” Did it hurt her to think of it? To remember him muzzled like a beast? The way he tore through cars and infrastructure like they were nothing? Sending terrified, innocent people scattering like insects? When his mind and his body were clearly not his own? That the gentle soul she knew had been corrupted by science and corruption itself? Of course. It killed her. After all, hearing it from Bucky’s own lips was one thing, but to _see it_? When there were no details for him to gloss over in his favour?

 

“It wasn’t him.” Once again, Steve’s pristine forehead wrinkled. That couldn’t be right. As much as he detested the fact, that _was_ Bucky that had rampaged the highway in Washington; that had caused an amount of destruction seemingly impossible for just one person. Well… Maybe he, Nat and Sam had contributed _a little_ in self-defence.

 

“Els…”

 

“The brief glimpses I caught of his face, when that dreadful mask came off-“ Yes, Steve would remember that gut-wrenching moment for as long as he lived. “The way he moved, lobbed a gun away when he’d emptied it… Physically, that was him. _My_ Bucky. _Our_ Bucky. Mentally, that was someone else; someone who, thankfully, no longer plagues this world. Emotionally, he was almost as raw then as he is now.”

 

Steve sucked on the words, clearing their meaning like marrow from a bone. Obviously, there was more to Bucky’s recovery than what he let on. Sure, he had admitted to the night sweats, nightmares and the crippling need to be held to get him through when one of those dogged him, but Steve’s absence (and Elsa’s replacement of him) in Bucky’s life had cost him understanding; and at such a critical time too. Somehow, the blonde didn’t think that stab of guilt came from treating himself to more cake.

 

 _“Were you afraid?”_ Steve, for all his morality, could put two and two together; there had been intimacy that night, that much he could tell. Had she been vulnerable? Scared? Helpless? Easy to coerce? _No. Bucky wouldn’t do that. And if he did, she wouldn’t be here now._

“Watching that monster ripping his way through stone and metal without so much as a scratch? Fire a variety of weapons with ease and precision? Landing from mind-boggling drops like they were nothing? Of course, I was afraid.” Steve’s lips folded back into each other with something akin to anxiety; he couldn’t blame her.

 

“Did you know that Bucky snores?”

 

Was there a blip in reality? Had he missed several precious minutes? How had the conversation taken such a turn? That last question was so outlandishly incompatible with the theme, it made no sense. And why was she smiling? A docile grimace, granted, but Steve found himself the focus of it. Wait… She was expecting an answer…?

 

“Uh…” Like a disorientated antelope in the headlights, and still trying to place where such a wildly misplaced question had come from, the blonde simply had to power through it. “God, I… I couldn’t tell you the last time-“

 

“Well, he does. Nothing disruptive or obnoxious, but there all the same. He blames the bed; too soft, he says, no support for his lungs.” With her graveness of recollection buried, Elsa’s softness had rekindled, and Steve automatically resumed his place in the briefly distorted conversation. “I didn’t know that until that night. Just as the video ended, and my heart was in my throat, he gave a little snort, as if to remind me he was there, and turned over.”

 

“I put my phone down… _Good morning, Louise…_ ” She recounted serenely, before doubling on her chair and lifting a chestnut hen into her lap to stroke it like one would stroke a dog; something Steve had never really seen before. “And I watched him for the longest time.”

 

“His chest lifted and fell. His body would shift every now and then to subconsciously adjust his comfort. His eyes flickered and his face contorted in reaction to his dreams. All things normal humans do in their sleep. I realized then, he was just that. The beast; the muzzled, bridled and blinkered beast, no longer existed but his persecuted shadow lay beside me.”

 

The Captain leaned closer to the table, observing the hen’s scaly eyelids shuttering in pure relaxation as Elsa’s fingers carefully kneaded beyond the feathers of _Louise’s_ wings; judging by the ease of the females of separate species, it was mutually soothing. He wasn’t sure he’d ever eat chicken wings again by that sight alone.

 

“I did a lot of weighing up that night. Did I take everything I thought of him and felt for him and throw it away for an extinct threat? You see, Steve… I trusted him. Not only did I trust him with the animals, I trusted him with _myself.”_

“In the brief time that we’d known each other, and the briefer _relationship_ that we had embarked upon, he made me feel things that were non-existent in my engagement. Isn’t that sad? That I was a few short months away from committing myself to someone who never made me feel appreciated, wanted or worthy in the same way, or at all, as someone I had only just met. Bucky did all that without thought or question. My biggest failure is that I have yet to help him to the extent that he has helped me.”

 

“I’d say that’s a pretty tall order, Els.” Steve pointed out fairly, vocal for the first time in quite a while; Elsa granted him the same courtesy of attentive quiet. “I mean, with everything he’s gone through, it’s gonna take a lot longer and normality’s probably the only thing that’s gonna fix it. Assuring himself that it’s really done, that it’s finally over. Besides…” The cliff-hanger was incidental but no less anxious for Elsa as her companion poured himself a glass of water to fend off the heat of the morning sun. “I think you’ve done more for him than you realize. He’s already comin’ back into himself, and he credits you for that.”

 

Did that mean something to the little vet? Judging by the sweetly shy (and privately accidental) smile, that seemed to be just the case. And maybe, just maybe, it caused a little flutter in Steve’s chest. Yes, Bucky was in _very_ good hands.

 

And speaking of Bucky…

 

“What time d’you call this, Barnes?” He impishly diverted his attention from one half of the couple to the other; the male half, who had just emerged from the hut with his hair sticking up every which way.

 

“Yeah, I thought I heard two hens clucking.” The White Wolf retorted with playful belligerence, stalking past his childhood friend to his lioness. That morning, like every morning, Elsa tilted her chin skyward where her lips met Bucky’s; albeit the lightness and briefness was for Steve’s benefit. “And it ain’t this one. Hey, Lou.” Prying himself from his partner, he plucked a stray feather from Louise’s back and lay it atop Elsa’s head instead; the roll of sapphire eyes was predictable. “Mornin’.”

 

Considerately, so Steve did not feel excluded, the _thump_ of a bedraggled tennis ball into his lap tweaked the blonde’s head to the source: Cody. Bright eyed, bushy tailed, and ready for play.

 

“No ball until after breakfast. Here. Have a chicken.” The ball was swiped and quickly replaced with the chestnut hen named Louise; who did not bat a reptilian eyelid at her relocation. Steve, on the other hand, stiffened; much to Bucky’s amusement from Elsa’s since vacant chair. “Come on, Codes. Brekkie, darling.”

 

“She won’t hurt you.” He said, cheerfully helping himself to what was left of the breakfast cake; though hot coffee would have been nice. “She was the closest thing we had to a dog before Cody came along. Els?! Baby, will you-?!”

 

**“You’ll get yours when the dog’s had his!”**

“That’s you told!” Steve chimed; face twisted with delight at the voice that rang from inside the hut. It appeared he and Louise had reached a wordless truce; if he didn’t move, she wouldn’t massacre him, unlike Bucky attested to. He might try and touch her, if he felt brave enough. Nazis? Terrorists? Superbots? Aliens? Gods with an attitude? No problem. A chicken? The fearless Captain Rogers would get back to you.

 

“We’ll give it maybe half an hour while we digest, then I think Cody needs a good run.” Bucky placated himself with a glass of water for the time being, the re-boiling of the kettle from inside reached his ears; it wouldn’t be long now. Every minute left with Steve (bar his extra time in bed) was precious, Elsa had conceded that ever before his arrival. After all, when was he to see him again?

 

“Sounds good. Could do with a run myself after everything I’ve eaten in the last twenty-four hours.”

 

“I know a spot. Miles of nothing. He can chase the ball till he drops, we can talk.”

 

“Even better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	19. Walk with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky take Cody for a run. Vulgarity ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter!

Standing still or sitting on the fence and throwing the ball for Cody was one thing.

 

But running with him and keeping pace while doing it, was quite another. Watching him bound at an impressive rate, leaping on the ball, only to double back to either Steve or Bucky to throw it again; his selected thrower would have to slow to claim the coveted object. It worked like a relay, and had the mongrel clocking up double the distance of his human companions.

 

Four feet matched four paws, churning up dust with every flick of propelling movement; all three ran for the fun of it, not for escape or preservation. The shared puffs were comfortable, not exhausted, expected and part and parcel of the exercise.

 

“I know I already said this guy could move, but… Jesus!”

 

“Hey, we’re keepin’ up just fine!” Indeed, they were. Two Super Soldiers, modified to the limits of their biology, jogging with ease at a speed that would certainly have turned heads at track running recruitment; not that they pushed themselves for it. “With any luck, he’ll sleep tonight!”

 

“Y’know, it’s almost like you want him _outta the way_ for something!” Playful accusation? Army-grade jibing? Absolutely. Another thing they’d both missed in not having each other. After all, who else knew the depths of filth their humours could sink to?

 

“He’s a mommy’s boy! If I make a wrong move with Els, he’s up like a shot!”

 

“What’s that they call that now?! Cock-blocking?! ’Member when dogs used to live outside?!”

 

“Ha! Put that to my girl and you’ll be hot-footed to the door! I’ll be put outside before he is!”

 

“Might cool ya down, Buck!”

 

They slowed together; panting with laughter rather than exertion. Tit-for-tat, just like the old days. The dog went on ahead, unaffected, or yet to notice the change of pace.

 

“She’s been talkin’ ‘bout neutering Cody.” Bucky divulged with residual undercurrents of amusement still swirling, adopting a leisurely walk in place of the jog. “If I don’t want him wandering, she says it’s best.” Steve followed suit in decreasing his tread, inclining his head in conceding to Elsa’s professional suggestion. If it made sense to her, a vet as well as the dog’s partial owner, maybe it was worth looking at. But Bucky wasn’t finished. “Then… She tells me if I wanna keep William, she needs to castrate him too. Gotta tell ya, pal; my thighs tightened.” Naturally, with the borderline vulgar streak in the conversation and the ante upped, the hysterical wheezing only deepened.

 

“Gettin’ cold sweats every time y’see her with a scalpel?” Steve prodded, dimples puncturing his cheeks and laughter lines creasing the sides of his eyes.

 

“Got a good mind to ban ‘em from the house!” Cody, having finally noticed the humans lagging behind, doubled back once more and made a beeline for Bucky; the one whose chest he’d slept snuggled into. It was automatic now, the brief wrestle of the ball from Cody’s jaws (part of the game, the growls were for show) and launching it as far as his single arm could throw it. “From now on, the bag and the scalpels stay in the jeep!”

 

“Have you guys talked about that?” Bucky’s sidelong glance of confusion may have been fleeting but clear all the same; until Steve clarified: “Kids?”

 

“We haven’t.” The White Wolf admitted with a grimace. Had they talked about it? No. Had he thought about it? Of course. “No. Really, in the grand scheme of things, we’re not together all that long. Even at that, no one knows we are. We’re just private like that.” He added, when it was Steve’s turn to cast a curious look. “Besides… With the serum and age and everything… I don’t even know if I can.” Suddenly, he realized he wasn’t as alone in that predicament as he initially believed. “Can you?” If ever there was a question to railroad Steve Rogers into bewilderment, it was that one.

 

“I uh… It’s never really come up.”

 

“There's help for that nowadays.”

 

“Shut up!” He protested with faux offence, giving his guffawing companion a small shove. In Bucky’s defence, he couldn’t resist. More dirty jokes, more joviality that seemed to follow them and weave its way in and out of their interactions like the morning heat as they walked side by side.

 

“But seriously… It’s not a conversation we’ve had. Y’know, she loves the animals, and I think she kinda mothers me a bit but, other than that, I don’t know what she wants.” Judging by the nonchalance and the semi-permanent lift of Bucky’s shoulders, what else could Steve take away from the declaration only something akin to indifference? “We’re still figurin’ each other out too, so maybe it’s better to leave it for a while and it might turn itself over. Don’t wanna scare her off with somethin’ like that so early either.”

 

“Buck, after everything you’ve told her, I’d be surprised if askin’ if she wants kids would be the thing to scare her off.”

 

“Knowin’ my luck, it would. And anyway, if her Goddamn family isn’t enough to scare anyone off havin’ kids, nothing is.”

 

“Yeah…” Steve’s brow furrowed, the revelations still fresh in his mind from that morning and, judging by the sudden vexation in his friend’s usually placid tone, Elsa hadn’t been exaggerating Bucky’s reaction. “She told me about that.”

 

“I swear to God, Steve, sometimes I Internet Robert Kincaid and Alistair Leighton just to be able to feel hate again. Dicks.”

 

“Google, not internet.”

 

“Whatever. Things are so great, y’know? Sometimes I just need a good pinch to make sure I know its all real, and lookin’ at their shit-eatin’ faces is all it takes. Just so I don’t get complacent; with my amazing girl, my dog, my farm…” Once again, Steve had to be the genial voice of reason.

 

“I mean… If you think about it… If it wasn’t for them, and doin’ what they did, you wouldn’t have her. Or Cody, probably.” Actually, there was no probably about it. Elsa had brought Cody to the farm and subsequently saved his life so: No Elsa = No Cody.

 

“No, but she still got hurt. She was still betrayed. Whatever about that piece’a crap Leighton-“ Steve could only assume that the dropped name of Alistair Leighton belonged to Elsa’s former fiancé; he would have guessed correctly. “But her own _dad_? C’mon, Steve.”

 

“Hey, there’s no defence from me! I just don’t want you poisonin’ yourself unnecessarily, not when you’ve come so far; I know Els wouldn’t want it either. They’re not worth it anyway. She’s here, she’s with you, she’s happy: you’ve automatically won. At least now, she’s not married to an unappreciative, social-climbing jackass with no idea you exist.”

 

 _“Yeah…”_ The ex-Winter Soldier grumbled, on the verge of a sulk, all the while grudgingly adhering to Steve’s sound thought process. “ _Still…”_

“I gotta head back tomorrow.” The blonde opted to change the subject but did so gently. “I know you can’t come visit but we’ll stay in contact this time, and I’ll try and come when I can.” He, like Bucky had done, wrangled the ball out of Cody’s fanged grasp, and hurled it with all his serum-induced might; only to watch the mutt scarper after it. “I'll let you know when I'm coming, and if you want anything State-side...”

 

“Well, unless I need a place to lie low; in which case I'll just turn up.” The aside prompted another chortled ripple; like all the others, it was mutual.

 

“Yeah, I know that feeling.” Bucky replied, his mood rapidly lightening, his aggression fading just as fast. “Least you have a place to go now; I was chased into a corner in Romania.”

 

“We're both wanted by Uncle Sam now, pal. After all we've done for him. How's that for appreciation?”

 

“Just do me a favour?” Of course, Steve, the ever-accommodating Steve, twisted his neck to take in his brother (in all but blood) and oblige in any way he could.

 

“Anything, Buck?”

 

It shouldn't have surprised the fugitive Captain America, when his eyes found Bucky Barnes for the umpteenth time that day, to spy impish mischief unfolding in his sun-kissed features. And certainly not in his tone when he laid out that all-important favour.

 

“Make sure you knock first, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Do leave a review if you did. Next chapter, new character!


	20. Domesticity and Disgruntlement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cody's neutering and Steve's departure are the main topics of conversation during the bedtime routine.  
> Steve returns to Syria where someone isn't so pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you a new character! Well... Not so new!

Domesticity.

 

A wonderful word, with an even better feeling.

 

And something James Buchanan Barnes found himself getting _very_ comfortable in. Their sacred bedtime routine (that night, the night after Steve’s departure, held a slightly different, if temporary earmark) contained some tweaks as opposed to anyone else’s. But with a small bed, two adults (granted, one significantly smaller than the other) and a large, overly affectionate dog, those tweaks were a necessity.

 

“Still woozy?” He pressed from the bed, leg tented and serving as a grounding for his device while his only hand did the scrolling. Ready for sleep, he kept the bed warm while Elsa took her turn in letting Cody out for one more pre-sleep pee. “I’ve seen steadier fellas fallin’ outta bars.”

 

“You may need to go out and help him.”

 

Oftentimes, Bucky did not understand the little intricacies of veterinary medicine; understandable, as Bucky was not a vet. So, for him to assume she was joking and tittering as if she was, was also understandable.

 

“Your turn, baby.”

 

“Male dog, male owner. Your name is on his vaccination record. If he needs help relieving himself, you’re doing it. Besides, I did the surgery.”

 

Thankfully, Cody, wobbly and all as he was, did not require assistance.

 

“He should be fine by morning once he’s slept it off, but I’ll give him a once over before I leave. Just make sure he doesn’t irritate the stitches.” The little female felt the bite of Wakandan night cold all the more, standing by the open door and protected only by a nightshirt; relieved when the dog came trundling towards her. “Mind the door, Cody. Cody!” **BANG.** Then the inevitable, resigned sigh. “ _Jesus…”_

 

Naturally, Bucky’s amusement got the better of him, as opposed to his curiosity. He already knew the source of the disturbance when he looked up: Cody was not yet accustomed to the Cone of Shame. Or negotiating the doorframe with it.

 

“How many times that today?”

 

“I’ve lost count. Too many. I’m starting to think he’s not the brightest.”

 

“I bet he’s in the minuses in brain cells by now.”

 

“If he keeps bashing the bloody cone, he will be. Ready?”

 

Device laid aside, leg slowly stretched across the vacant space beside him and overly attentive to the dog’s movements, Bucky was ready. Lights out, door locked, and only the dying embers in the fireplace left, the hut’s atmosphere matched that of its owner: restful.

 

“Ready. Go.”

 

“Cody! **Look!”** It’s amazing what a morsel of dinner leftovers can do. In this case, the landing of a piece of meat into the dog basket was enough to send Cody skittering (with a comical wobble of the cone) and Elsa making a beeline for the empty spot that Bucky rushed to move his leg from.

 

And with that, the venture (the tried and tested method of distraction, swiftness and timing) was a success. Bucky, instead of lying spread on his back in the middle of the bed as he had been doing, hauled himself flush to the wall and turned on his side. The technique had been perfected to the second, giving Cody no chance to outrun his mother and make it to the bed before her. Once she hit the mattress; Elsa, the dainty Elsa, slotted herself into the briefly empty space beside her partner and settled against the solid slab of Bucky’s bare chest.

 

The compact quarters of the bed no longer dictated their closeness, it was no longer a factor in keeping them tight-knit during sleep anymore; nor, incidentally, was the deceptive cool of the African night. No, it was the longing for intimacy and the comfort of touch that simply lying together gave them. In short: being close because they _wanted to be,_ not _needed to be._

 

It wasn’t complete, however, until the weight of Bucky’s arm rested on his little vet’s waist and his hand curved to warm the small of her back.

 

_“Are you alright?”_

Body already succumbing to rest in his favourite position, Bucky’s eyes might not have opened, but his brows lifted in some bare acknowledgement.

 

_“Mmm…?”_

_“You miss Steve.”_

_“Yeah.”_ Came the admission from the darkness. Why deny it? She knew how to read him exceptionally well to decipher his feelings; to deny it would be to lie to her. And after the painful lengths he’d already gone to be to be truthful, why would he start lying now? _“But he’s gonna call me tomorrow. I don't think he was heading Stateside, so once he's settled where he's going, he'll call me. And he wants me to send him pictures of the animals every day so… You’re gonna have to show me how to do that.”_

_“I will. Of course, I will.”_ Elsa didn’t have to stretch far (or at all) for her lips to press Bucky’s in the ritual goodnight kiss; so close in fact, that their breath was almost shared. Practically nose to nose, the ex-Winter Soldier would not be able to sleep until he’d planted a kiss of his own to her forehead; a token of affection of the purest kind.

 

_“Sweet dreams, Angel.”_

_“Goodnight, Sweetheart.”_

 

* * *

Samuel Thomas Wilson.

 

Pararescue airman, turned PTSD counsellor, turned Avenger, turned disgruntled fugitive. And really, a spell in the Raft would do that to anyone; especially when the government Sam had served so loyally had turned against him. But is that not the burden of one’s choices? And the actions they birth? Despite the abundance of counselling Sam had bequeathed to others, he still had trouble reconciling himself with that fact.

 

Steve’s return the night previous did not go unnoticed; not when the jet rattled every window in its pane of that dilapidated, partially bombed house they called home. A very loose term, to be sure, in the sweltering Syrian days and nights.

 

“How was Wakanda?” While Steve had not been away long enough to gather much of a tan, he certainly _looked_ more relaxed; which was more than could be said for Sam or Natasha.

 

“Good.” The blonde replied, non-committal and wary of the swirling undercurrents of hostility but refusing to shrink away from it. His departure (understandably) hadn’t been too well received, but with a lull in terrorist activity and a drop in energy signatures from the Chitauri weapons, why shouldn’t he? When he’d waited with bated breath for long enough to give Bucky a chance to heal?

 

 “You came back a little shorthanded.” Sam noted, just short of scathing with his meagre breakfast forgotten. Immersed or not, avoiding looking up or not, there was no escaping Sam's direct, pointed and dissecting gaze from across the table; a rickety slab on four legs. “Where's Barnes?”

 

Steve let the “shorthanded" comment slide, telling himself it wasn't a stab at Bucky's arm or lack thereof. Stopping what he was doing and relinquishing a sigh, the Captain still refrained from meeting Sam's simmering challenge.

 

_“I couldn't do it, Sam.”_

 

The sceptical click of a tongue cut clean through Steve's resolve and forced the eyes of periwinkle upwards. It seemed doleful guilt made no impact on Sam's stony air. Nor the hushed, weak excuse; so, why not keep going? In the vain attempt of appealing to Sam’s better nature?

 

 _“I mean… I was going to, I had him on his own but… he’s happy.”_ Thinking of it now, Steve felt another surge of the same melancholy he’d felt when he first looked around Bucky’s farm. The simplicity of it, the safety, the purity. Then the vet arrived, and he felt it surge all over again. Softly, Steve went on. _“He’s got a great girl that adores him as much as he adores her, a whole fresh start with a farm. How could I ask him to leave it? To squat here in this dump with us? Trackin’ terrorists? Put his life on the line after just gettin’ it back?”_

“We’re under pressure here, Steve.” Sam pressed, calmly but impatiently; hard stare unwavering. “You said you were gonna talk to Barnes and get him to lend a hand. There was a surge in activity the day you left, we took fire, Fury’s nowhere to be found. But you _couldn’t do it_?”

 

In Sam’s defence, Steve’s parting promise had implied as much; and perhaps it had been one of the deciding factors in not putting up resistance when Captain America left for Wakanda. An extra pair of hands, so to speak. Sam, while his personal tolerance for Bucky Barnes was limited, could admit that the Winter Soldier would be a great asset to them in Syria; more so even, than Steve Rogers. He spoke numerous languages, he could hide in plain sight, his knowledge and experience with weaponry were second to none.

 

But no, Steve opted to leave him where he was of no use to anyone: Wakanda.

 

Once again, like the airstrip, Steve skipped off, arm in arm with the Winter Soldier, while the others were left fending for themselves. How could Sam _not_ have a bitter taste in his mouth from it?

_“He’s at peace, Sam. He’s finally healing-“_

 

“And what about **our** peace, Steve?” The Falcon sideswiped the next pathetic whimper testily; the blonde had no response except an anxious sandwiching of his lip, but Sam wasn’t finished with the jugular. “What about **my** peace? **Nat’s** peace? **_Your_ **peace? It’s okay for us to be here, but not him?”

 

“I didn’t make you come here, Sam.” Eventually, Steve found his backbone and his voice and used them to straighten himself; to draw a line under the barrage and the unfair assessments. Meeting that glare head-on, the (significantly) older of the two adopted the brazenness of a certain little vet. “I didn’t make Nat come here either. Fury approached us with this assignment, and we wanted to help.” Perhaps Sam had expected the usually agreeable Captain Rogers to take the bombardment and give none of it back and it may have started out that way, but it turned out, Steve would only take so much pushing before he began to push back.

 

“All Bucky wanted was to serve his country, like us. He didn’t ask for Zola. He didn’t ask for the Winter Soldier. He didn’t ask for Hydra. Just once, I think he should be able to do what _he_ wants. If I made him come here, I’d be no better than them.”

“If I thought for one minute that he was willing to take on another fight, I don’t think I’d even need to ask him, he’d be here.” Pausing, Rogers let that sink in before continuing evenly: “But he isn’t. We talked about it; he’s done. I don’t expect you to understand, Sam, but he’s _tired._ He’s done this for _decades_ , he just wants to _rest,_ and get on with a normal life. And y’know what? After all the shit he’s been through, _he deserves it.”_

For once, Sam had no response; even his usual dry wit and sarcasm evaded him. Instead, he resorted to the silent, seething glower; a grudging and scarce accepting of defeat when he could do nothing else.

 

But Steve, ever the good-natured Steve, considerately returned to the basic task of making his coffee, rather than poking at his friend’s fractured pride. _Maybe I’ve hit home with him._ He told himself. _This isn’t the easiest job, it’s definitely not the prettiest; I can’t blame him for being pissed. He needs somewhere to put his frustration, but I can’t let him put it on Bucky._

 

“He doesn’t know about the mission.” The blonde confessed, stirring the beverage he wasn’t sure he wanted anymore, and paying _far_ too much heed to it in the process. “And I think if I told him, he’d offer to help… But his heart wouldn’t be in it. He’d do it ‘cause it’s me and… I owe him more than that. Besides…” Sam’s attention lifted and lowered again when his benevolent companion took a seat at his side, the borderline animosity gratefully forgotten.

 

“If he came over here, and something happened to him, she’d come over, clean the place out of terrorists and Chitauri weapons, then turn on us.” Lifting the cup but pausing halfway, the amused pull of Steve’s lips into his cheeks seemed to spark one in Sam too. “So, no thank you.”

 

“That bad, huh?” The ex-airman chimed, renewing his interest in his breakfast: a reminiscence of army-issue oatmeal, and relief by the olive branch of humour. The flow of conversation, as opposed to accusations and sniping, was welcome too. “Sounds like it's her you should’ve brought back.”

 

“Yeah… She’s a piece of work alright.” The bonding session with the vet outside the hut had resonated with him. Certainly not in a bad way. But the greatest measure of her character came, not from direct interactions with her, but when she wasn’t around; what he garnered from Bucky. How he spoke about her, the immoveable grin when he recalled how he met her, and they came to be. Christ, if only Steve could be that lucky. “But… I gotta say… I’ve never seen him happier. So, I’m gonna leave them to each other as long as I can.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	21. Testing Times.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's fears of Elsa's Soviet loyalties look like they could be coming true.   
> Or is the explanation far more unexpected than he could ever dream of?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

It had been two months since Steve’s first visit, and another soon to follow. As promised, the finally reunited pair spoke every day, and Bucky took great pride in sending pictures of his beloved animals to Steve. His favourite to date depicted Elsa and Cody snuggled up together and taking up the entirety of the bed, fast asleep and blissfully oblivious to Bucky’s camera; under the heading: “I guess the dog basket is free.”

 

To say that things _soured_ is not entirely fair or accurate, but Bucky found himself uncomfortably toying with the word when it came to describing the gradual and subtle deterioration of the relationship to himself. Not with Steve, goodness no. With Elsa.

_It’s not my imagination,_ Bucky resolved, paranoia persisting its itching niggle for the fourth day in a row. _Is she pissed with me? Did I say something? Do something? Was it something I didn’t do or say?_ He couldn’t place anything out of the ordinary, only her distance lately. There was no animosity, or aggression, which might have made said distance easier.

 

She went through the motions, which was hardly a comfort; the greeting and parting kisses in the morning and evening, sleeping in the same bed but drifting during the night (as much as was possible, at least). During her wakeful hours, when she wasn’t at work (and Bucky tried to convince himself that she wasn’t taking on extra rounds), she seemed to be firmly planted in her own world that didn’t include her bewildered partner.

 

 _That’s it._ He thought eventually, hesitantly accepting the worst-case scenario like he had the night he laid himself bare as the Winter Soldier. _She’s either bored and doesn’t know how to finish it, or she’s a Soviet agent tasked with bringing back the Winter Soldier. And I don’t know which one is worse._

Until he found something. Something that he thought he understood; granted, if it fuelled his latter theory, it was something he’d never seen in his fifty years as a master assassin and weapons expert. Some sort of… detonator? A tranquilizer? A vial of poison? Turning it over in his hand yielded no answers so the best thing to do? Ask. Even if he wouldn’t like the answer.

 

Was he ready for a punch-out with the woman he (probably wrongly) believed wouldn’t hurt a fly? Would he be able to hurt her, even if it was in self-defence? The woman who held his heart in the palm of her hand, and was now in a prime position to crush it? With a Russian accent? If he was little more than a mission, it would explain why she stuck around as long as she did, endured him and his vulnerabilities to such an extent that she won his absolute trust. It made her more dangerous than he had ever been.

 

“Els, this was in the trash. What is it?” It was hard to keep himself, both his emotions and his voice level; playing innocent, it had been a long time since it was a necessity. The fear ate at him, waiting for that terrible confirmation, waiting to be told that everything he had cherished for the past four months had been an abominable lie.

 

Seemingly lost in dinner preparation, Elsa only half directed her heed to the door, where Bucky stood with the six-and-a-half-inch plastic object. When she clocked it, however, nothing changed; not her expression, or the fact that she looked past him rather than at him. Well, maybe not past him, but before him; fixated on the object in damning question.

 

The small of the vet’s back found the table-top behind her, and only then did micro-changes in those beguiling features begin to register for the White Wolf. But it confused him. No anger at being foiled prematurely by her own carelessness. No contempt for the weakness she’d instilled in him with false feelings. No cruel triumph as she revealed that the Fist of Hydra would be back under their control with more intense and advanced techniques; all thanks to her.

 

Or… Was she coerced? Forced? Threatened? _Find the Winter Soldier, make yourself a cornerstone of his world so he will suspect nothing,_ **or else** … That occurred to Bucky when none of those expected reactions came. Instead, the small and apparently inconsequential item birthed the opposite.

 

Shame.

Guilt.

Despondency.

Sorrow.

 

Even a rueful swallow before she gave the answer he wasn’t sure he wanted now.

 

_“It’s negative, so it doesn’t matter.”_

That… That explained nothing. Now, he only had more questions. Blankly, Bucky’s eyes dropped to the thing in his hand, then the girl who looked so horribly crestfallen, then again to the incriminating article that he felt he hadn’t been supposed to find. The Soviet Spy theory began to fade but Bucky had nothing to replace it with; grappling with a different fear of making things worse.

 

“It’s… I don’t know what that means, Els. What _is_ this?”

 

 _“You went to the trouble of digging it out of the bin, and bringing it in here to put it under my nose, but you don’t know what it is?”_ Cold neutrality of the past few days abandoned, Elsa adopted a difference demeanour: brazen (if quiet and sedated) offence. _“I know it was wrong to say nothing, but I would prefer if you didn’t play stupid. It doesn’t suit you and it’s insulting to both of us.”_

Now, truly at a loss, Bucky opted to take a closer look at the troublemaker; perhaps in a bid to find something tell-tale that he hadn’t before. But, as ignorant as when he first found it, the White Wolf re-focused on the now simmering Elsa. Mouth dry and panic starting to grate in his gut, James Buchanan Barnes found himself cornered by helplessness.

 

“Look… Els… I dunno what this is. I mean, I _really_ don’t know what it is, but… if it’s the reason you’ve been off the last few days, I wanna know. I wanna know what’s wrong so I can fix it _._ ”

 

On more than one occasion, it had struck Elsa how charmingly out of touch with some aspects of modern technology Bucky could be. Like sending the pictures to Steve, for instance, she had gladly shown him that. Sure, he could pilot a helicopter and operate a variety of contemporary weapons with terrifying accuracy, but that had a darker explanation.

 

Now… It was more of the same. He really didn’t know. It plunged the dagger of guilt further into her stomach, and her (over)reaction simply twisted it. Seeing him, so hopelessly out of his depth and pleadingly trained on her for some scarce scrap of explanation, it only seemed fair.

 

 _“Bucky…”_ She began carefully, sandwiching her lips hard in pure apprehension. How the hell was she even going to broach this? How did she string the words together to construct the sentence that could have him running for the hills? Better to just get it out and over with. _“Sweetheart… That’s a pregnancy test.”_

Had she expected him to turn tail and flee? Throw the stick to the floor and embark on a barrage of bellicosity? A swift, brutal end to the relationship she held so dear? Even if she hadn’t really shown it in the past few days? Well… Fear of the unknown and fear of the consequences would do that. Just like she had kept him waiting for an answer, he kept her waiting for a response too. Out of sheer stupefaction, nothing else.

_“I wasn’t sure… Not until today. And I didn’t want to say anything until I was…”_ She went on, by means of clarification, hoping to stir something in him.

 

Bucky kept his silence, having dropped his eyes to this _thing_ in his hand; this origin of fidgeting fascination. Did that mean what he think it meant? Back in Brooklyn, there had been a clear, societal, cultural divide between men and women. For the sake of privacy and decency, if nothing else. Old fashioned? Maybe, but that was how it went. Men’s bodies were men’s bodies, and women’s bodies were women’s bodies; they were not discussed. Perhaps something to do with the propriety of the prominent Catholicism at the time.

 

He could only assume (probably correctly) that had he raised a female topic like menstruation to any girl he courted back in Brooklyn, the resulting smack would have sent him stumbling. Elsa though… She talked about it openly, relieved his curiosities and allowed herself to be vulnerable when she knew he was there to care for her. She slept more, ate more, was in pain often but Bucky did his best.

 

Still, there was something about this; something that made him wonder how involved he was supposed to be. His mother had had four children. His father hadn’t questioned it. There was no conversation. So… What did she want?

 

 _“Are you going to say anything?”_ If there was one thing the White Wolf _detested_ , it was seeing his lioness upset. He knew instantly, on any given day, when she had to put an animal to sleep, or when there was nothing she could have done to save one. She hugged each of their own animals individually (chickens included) then came looking for him when the tidal wave of emotion would explode into his chest.

 

So why was now any different? Why didn’t he rush to her like he did any of those times? When he was finally able to lift his eyes from this advancement in medical technology (that became widely available during his reign as the Winter Solider, during a time that he would have had no business knowing about such a thing) to the source of the fraught sniffle, his perplexity deepened.

 

 _“But… You said it was negative.”_ Was he reading her right? She was clearly despairing; lip trembling and sapphire eyes watering, but… surely this was a good thing?

 

_“It is.”_

_“So, you’re not…?”_

_“No.”_

 

Did that clear things up? No. He was missing something, he had to be. Instead of comfortingly closing the distance and soothing her like he normally would have hurried to do, he stayed rooted.

 

“Okay… I’m still confused.” Swallowing hard, that confusion seemed to be mutual; so, just in case, the little vet kept to the support of the table. Apparently, it was the only place she was going to _get_ support.

 

_“What confuses you? It’s negative. I’m not-!”_

“I wanna know why you’re upset.” A fair inquiry, and necessary if he was going to get to the bottom of this. With the stick held aloft, he gave it a tap of his finger. “I could be wrong here, but I’m gettin’ the impression this isn’t what you wanted.” Roles reversed, Elsa was now the one who had to be prodded for an answer; but, like always, Bucky was patient.

 

 _“At first: No. It was far from ideal.”_ Finally. Getting somewhere. Yes, she was reluctant, but leaving her to her own devices and letting her come to terms with it on her own, would prove invaluable. All Bucky had to do was keep the stick visible. _“I mean… It wouldn’t have worked, would it? We’re not together all that long, and questions would have been asked, and it’s the last thing either of us needed…”_

But…

 

 _“In the last few days… Thinking about it constantly… I became more and more enamoured by the idea. I found ways around the initial obstacles I had conjured up, I thought of answers to those questions…”_ Elsa’s eyes roved, focusing on nothing in particular, but appearing to draw the strength to confess from the random banality of the hut. _“I think my biggest fear was you.”_ Did that insult him? No. Not when he was _so close._

“You’re disappointed.”

_“Yes… I suppose I am.”_

There it was. The admission that prompted the ex-Winter Soldier to abandon his interrogatory stance and descend on the table where his darling companion was just about keeping it together but fast losing her composure.

 

 _“Hey. Hey. C’mere. Listen to me.”_ Stick laid aside on the grounding of the tabletop (had Elsa noticed, she might have _cringed),_ Bucky wasted no more time in gathering her to his chest; one arm with the comfort and support enough to feel like two. Both her arms around his middle and the subsequent squeeze replenished sorely craved relief within the White Wolf. _“It’s not the end of the world. And, for the record, if you’d’ve told me you were, I’d’ve been over the moon.”_ Even when her laughter was watery and muffled by his torso, it was still the most beautiful and rewarding thing ever to reach Bucky’s ears. _“I know what you’re sayin’ ‘bout the right time, and you’re right. It can wait if you want it to.”_

_“I should have known you would have been nothing but understanding and supportive.”_ Elsa succumbed to the temptation to weep; again, out of utter relief. The secure, solid cradle of her partner’s body, paired with the benevolent rocking, pacified her to no end; calling on her to ask herself: _How could I have thought he would have done or said anything else?_ Bucky’s cheek warmed the top of Elsa’s head, curling her further into the safety of his being; it was hardly surprising when the next, sniffled words tumbled from her lips, however accidentally. _“I love you…”_

 

Bucky physically didn’t move or budge his guarding stance; but she may as well have hauled both her legs up and punted them, as hard as she could, into his stomach. But… In the best way possible. It took a moment of mental unsticking, of trying to steady his mind from the dizzying confession. And it **_was_** _dizzying._

****

Prying himself back, albeit as gently as possible, Bucky brought himself face to face with those enchanting features; those enchanting, dazed features. Like the night of his naturalization, she had laid out a vulnerability, and Bucky simply stared her down. However, _unlike_ the night of his naturalization, she didn’t _quite_ get to the hysterical state she did then.

 

Instead of storming off, his face split into a beam to rival the Wakandan sun, his nose lined with hers and his arm dropped from her waist; only for his hand to rise and cup her cheek, thumb stroking away the leakage of tears in pure adoration.

 

 _“Christ, finally.”_ He huffed, battling against his own overcome wave of emotion. _“Been waiting for that… Thought I was the only one feelin’ it…”_ Seal it with a kiss? Absolutely, with the devoted rocking resumed to boot. _“I love you too. God, I love you too…”_

_“You could have said something!”_ She berated tearfully; this time, the tears sprang from gratitude rather than sorrow. _“I might not have been so terrified to tell you!”_

 

 _“Cat’s outta the bag now.”_ He replied, another kiss following swiftly upon those words; one she retuned with the utmost enthusiasm. _“And to think, I thought that Goddamn stick was gonna be the end of us…”_

_“Where is it?”_

_“Here…”_

_“You need to take it off the table, love.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Well, for one: You took it out of the bin. And two: I urinated on it. That’s how it works.”_

_“Oh…”_

Did the test ever make it back to the bin? Maybe not that night, not when the couple became so immersed in each other that the test, dinner, and everything else went out the window.

 

* * *

 

 

_“We’re strange, you and I.”_

 

“I mean, sure…” Came the placid agreement from beneath her some time later, restful and playful at the same time. “We got lotsa examples, but wanna give me what brought you to it this time round?”

 

 _“Well…”_ The spent sigh began, burrowing her nose into the crevice of his neck; an odd, animal-inspired brand of affection that Bucky rather enjoyed. _“We found ourselves in a situation that, we agreed, we weren’t entirely ready for-“_

“Whoa, hold on. That’s not what we said. We said it wasn’t the right time. I a’ready told you I’d’ve been delighted, and you said you’d talked yourself round.”

 

_“Right. Well. We agreed it wasn’t the right time-“_

“That’s better.”

 

_“So, we mutually decide to wait. But **then,** we go and do what initially would have put us in that situation in the first place again, potentially putting us into it again. Do you see?”_

“Yeah, I get it.” The blissful, tranquil seconds ticked past; where nothing only the other mattered. Calm silence, with only the crickets outside serenading a love song. Until…

 

“Wanna do it again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bucky!  
> Or not so poor Bucky. ;)


	22. Love Thy Neighbour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky fills Steve in on the latest developments with Elsa.   
> Brooklyn-style jabs arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have reason to believe the boys would have been (in their Brooklyn days) of the Catholic persuasion. There's nothing really in canon to suggest for or against it, just going on my own feeling. :)

**“’Member the last time we ran this trail?!”**

 

As usual, Cody booted on ahead, two testicles lighter than when Steve had seen him last; not that it made an ounce of difference to his speed and leaving his enhanced human companions in the literal dust.

 

 **“Yeah!”** Steve called back over his own controlled puffing; they would stop soon, not for a break, but to speak properly. **“I love it! Wish I had one like it back home!”** Wherever home tended to be these days. But that wasn’t what Bucky was getting at.

 

Eventually, they petered to a walk, beside the same tree as before, so Steve flagged it as a landmark. Casting a side-glance at his oldest and dearest friend, the blonde (whose beard had come on impressively) had noticed something _different._ And not just in Bucky, but something that rippled into his secret partner too; the same one who greeted Steve with a hug like an old friend. 

 

“What? You’ve had that Goddamn grin on since I got here, what is it?!”

 

The grin spread, fuelled by Steve’s benevolent badgering, making him wait pulled it further into Bucky’s cheeks. But the delight of saying it, feeling it and tasting those wonderful words won out over his best friend’s frustration.

 

 _“She loves me, Steve.”_ He managed to wrangle out past the delirium; fizzing with exuberance at the very idea. _“It’s official. She loves me. She dropped it the other night.”_ Steve halted his tread, losing Bucky for a few feet until Cody came back into view. Wrestling the ball from _mommy’s boy’s_ mouth and launching it out of sight, Bucky watched Cody skitter off while he waited with an inclined head for Steve to spit out a reaction.

 

 _“What?”_ Steve hissed, incredulous, at Bucky’s back; prompting his friend to half-turn, brow creased with borderline offence. _“You can’t be serious? You’re foolin’, right?”_

“I’m not foolin’, Steve.” He replied with a bite of uncharacteristic testiness; maybe a tad sensitive where those feelings were concerned and expecting more from someone he was sure would have been as elated about it as he was. “What’s wrong with you, huh?”

 

“How’d you _not know_ that she loves you?!” The eldest pressed, jogging the short distance to put him back in Bucky’s immediate vicinity. “I clocked it the second I saw the two of you together that first time on the farm!”

 

 _Relief._ And maybe a touch of embarrassment.

 

Poor Bucky. So protective of his feelings, the first sign of vagueness was automatically assumed to be negativity, which the White Wolf would not tolerate. In response, he jumped on it accordingly until it was clarified for him that his fairer counterpart’s incredulity was born of good-natured disbelief as opposed to mocking. Or worse: jealousy.  

 

 _“Christ’s sake, don’t scare me like that!”_ Bucky snarled, to the backdrop of Steve’s chuckle; clapping him on the back by way of a manly apology and giving the back of his neck a squeeze. The days of being able to draw the much-smaller Steve Rogers to his side by the shoulders and hold him there had died with their days together in Brooklyn.

 

“Sorry, Buck. But you gotta’ve been blind not to see it. How’d that come about anyhow?”

 

Which brought them full circle to the original question.

 

“’Member the last time we ran this trail?”

 

“You asked me this already.”

 

“Humour me.”

 

“Fine. Yes, I remember the last time we ran this trail.”

 

“We had a specific conversation.”

 

Jesus, that could have been anything. Flummoxed, Steve struggled to peel through the layers of numerous exchanges on that particular day all those months ago. It seemed to get the better of him, and he let it show too; in the utter bewilderment marring those handsome features.

 

“I dunno, Buck. We talked about lotsa things. Cody gettin’ the snip?”

 

“No! She did make a pretty neat job of it though.”

 

“I didn’t notice but if I need it done, I’ll call Elsa.”

 

“The hell you will.” Time for a clue, maybe. Or… Just come right out and say it. The joint steps, meandering and leisurely, edged them more slowly into the trail than their dust-kicking jog; but Bucky, with the sun on his face and the sweet breeze in his hair, savoured it.

 

“We uhh… We had a pregnancy scare a few days ago.” Apparently, that was the term for it; before Elsa told him, he would have had no idea. A false alarm, sure, but a false alarm that established and paved the way for something _beautiful._ While Steve said nothing out of astonishment (but visibly trying to find the words), his steps were in automatic tandem with Bucky’s.

 

“She’d been kinda… _off_ for a few days, and I was shit scared to say anythin’. Kept thinking: _This is it, she’s bored, we’re done.”_ Bucky recalled the terrifying instance with hindsight-gifted fondness, the grin hadn’t slipped far. _“_ I think it was only by chance I found the test in the trash and asked her what it was.”

 

Poor Cody. Steve was usually more tuned in when it came to the ball; playing Cody’s game and wrestling it off him like Bucky did. Not this time, not when autopilot took over for something simple as laying one foot in front of the other to guide him through his daze. The mutt even went to the trouble of headbutting his thigh and winding his way through Captain America’s legs in plea before the White Wolf relieved him.

 

“It wasn’t a _fight, w_ e didn’t _fight_.” He had to clarify, while Steve still battled speechlessness. “She got her back up though, but I think it was ‘cause she thought I was playin’ stupid to piss her off. Did you know you can tell if you’re pregnant by peeing on a stick now?” Yes, that seemed to jolt something into Steve alright. “I thought it was a Goddamn detonator or somethin’, thought she was _definitely_ a Soviet agent.”

 

“Lil white stick?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Yeah, Buck. You pee on it and… I dunno how it works but, you can get ‘em anywhere. Pharmacies, grocery stores… Even gas stations.”

 

“See, I didn’t know that. All this stuff happened while I was _otherwise occupied_. What did the Winter Soldier need to know ‘bout a pregnancy test for? And when I got away from Hydra, that kinda science wasn’t high on my priorities.”

 

A fair disclaimer, in Steve’s opinion. Warming to the conversation that had railroaded him somewhere out of left field, he seemed to be just awake enough to catch the bottle of water lobbed at him from the backpack.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Told you, man. She’s lookin’ out for us.” Bucky might have taken the initial slug from his own bottle, but the second was not for him. “Codes! C’mere! Idiot’ll keep runnin’ till he drops.” Loyally (not obediently), the mongrel appeared; ball lodged in one side of his mouth while his tongue hung out the other, wagging his tail expectantly. “C’mon, boy. Get a drink. Or your mom’ll be on my ass when you pass out. Steve, help me out here?”

 

Taking the (uncapped) bottle held aloft, the blonde poured it into Bucky’s cupped hand, where Cody seemed to know exactly what to do with it. The crystalline liquid hit worn, dirt-ingrained skin; the coolness instantly disturbed by the lashes of Cody’s eager tongue.  

 

“Atta boy. Right, where was I?” Straightening, and wiping his hand on his pants leg as he did so, the ex-Winter Soldier mentally rewound in a bid to pick up where he left off; appreciative of Steve’s patience. Pit stop over, the boys wore further into the trail that had become synonymous with catching up. “Oh yeah. So, she gets all upset, I’m still at a loss ‘cause I don’t know what the _hell_ is going on. Turns out, she’d been thinkin’ ‘bout it since she first found somethin’ amiss and got cosy with the idea; so, she was disappointed when she found out she wasn’t… _y’know.”_

“Pregnant. Sure.”

 

“Then she tells me: it was _me s_ he was worried about! Like I was gonna turn tail and run! Whether she was or wasn’t!”

 

The laughter that ensued was mutual and Steve, knowing his friend and his feelings for his partner well enough, knew the concept to be just that: laughable. And Bucky’s roguish turn of phrase might have had something to do with it.

 

“Jesus. I love her more than life itself and she thinks I’m gonna scarper over somethin’ like that! Somethin’ I would’ve wanted as much as she did!”

 

“In her defence, she didn’t know that at the time.”

 

“No, that’s true. Incoming. Your turn.” As it happened, when Cody came bolting back, it was Steve he went to anyway. Pausing his glug to fire the ball, Captain Rogers drowned the grunt of effort with another mouthful after Cody bounded off in hot pursuit.

 

“So, I told her truthfully: If she was, I’d’ve been over the moon. And, y’know, goes without sayin’, if it happened, I’d marry her. Wouldn’t think twice about it.”

 

“I know, Buck.” Steve’s sincerity was as pure as his delight for the situation that, as such, did not include him. A shield-strong arm flung across farm-toned shoulders; a gesture of camaraderie and brotherhood with a beam to match. “Things’ve moved on though. Doesn’t matter if you’re married or not to have a kid anymore. I don’t think Elsa’s gonna be blacklisted for not havin’ a ring on her finger.”

 

“Pfft. I’d like to see the person stupid enough to try.” Came the responding scoff paired to Steve’s titter. “But it just feels right. And I think my mom’d haunt me if she knew I got my girl into trouble and didn’t do right by her.” Mrs Barnes, a good Brooklyn Catholic if ever there was one. “Besides, let’s be honest here: I’m gonna do it anyway.”

 

“What? Marry her or get her into trouble?”

 

“Hey, _she_ gets _me_ in trouble.”

 

“In the same way that I used to get you in trouble?”

 

“No. Different. There were waaaaay too many of Father Byrne’s sermons that were **definitely** aimed at us.”

 

Ah, to reminisce. Another hysterics-inducing, chest-heaving memory of Brooklyn and the characters that made it what it was. Father Byrne: a young, exasperated priest who tried to address as much as he could to his congregation in as gentle a fashion as possible. Naturally, seeing Steve Rogers every Sunday morning with a burst lip or a black eye _had_ to suggest that approach wasn’t really working. But he persisted.

 

“There was a lotta fighting sermons a’right.  It’s like we were hearing “Love thy neighbour” every second Sunday.”

 

“Again, I blame you! I never misbehaved until you were around; I just got dragged into stuff! With her, it’s a _different kind_ of trouble.”

 

“Too much information there, Buck. I get the picture.” The blonde commented lightly, brushing off the crude remark with the beam still unwavering; being reunited with his best friend of a nearly a hundred years would have that effect. “That’s what happens when you come lookin’ for me. And you can’t tell me you never threw the first punch over a girl.”

 

“Defending a lady’s honour, Rogers.” Not that Elsa ever wore the badge of “lady”, she’d already confided in Steve as such; and he could’ve have been wrong, but maybe Elsa was adept at throwing her own punches. Secluded from Steve’s own ponderings, Bucky went on; in speech and stride. “I told you I’m done with violence and fighting, but if her dad turns up, I’ll gladly make an exception and throw the first punch.”

 

“I’ll line up for the second one. Just like the old days.” The incorruptible Captain America chipped in, pledging himself as a second line of offence for the little vet, who had already come to mean a great deal to him. “Only if she doesn’t beat us to it. It’s the tiny ones you gotta watch, Buck.”

 

“I know. How many alleys did I pull your flailing fists outta?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Father Byrne is modelled on Father Mulcahy from M.A.S.H. :D


	23. To Throttle or Hug?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsa recounts her dinner at Kinsa's with Shuri to Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's 23 chapters already!

 

Perhaps it wasn’t _quite_ the reaction Elsa had expected. Or at all, in fact.

 

Not only did Shuri _know_ about the relationship in question (apparently the little smiles, the skirting diversion of conversation when Shuri steered it towards the White Wolf were more telling than Elsa realized) but, she had **s _et it up_**. They, Elsa and Bucky, had been **_set up. Literally._**

 

That scheming, devious, brilliant, _wonderful_ teenager brazenly looked her friend in the eye from across their table in Kinsa’s and smugly declared:

 

_“I couldn’t help myself. **I** put **his** farm on **your** route **on purpose.** You both needed it, in your own ways. You’re welcome.”_

And from there, it would spread like wildfire. Indeed, upon her arrival home that night, Shuri would override the security to her brother’s room to animatedly proclaim that her plan had been a success. That the White Wolf and the Lioness were a couple and had been for some time.

 

Mission accomplished.

 

* * *

 

 

_“You’re back late. Shuri stay out past curfew?”_

Resigning herself to a full bed (in her absence, Cody had taken absolute advantage and Bucky hadn’t refused him), Elsa’s tiny form managed to wiggle into whatever empty space presented itself. In fairness, the dog got there first.

 

 _“Shuri is a princess, my love. She can do as she pleases, bugger the inconvenience to anyone else.”_ Not that it was an inconvenience. 

_“Tell her mom that.”_

 

Even in the dark, they did not need to converse their movements. Bucky, on his back with his arm slung around the beloved mutt warming his torso, shuffled to the best of his ability to make room; which Elsa gratefully slotted herself into, with the two most important men in her life. The abundance of physical touch was maximized by Elsa’s arm crossing over Bucky’s scarred chest, the shared, placid peck and set off, of course, by the affectionate nuzzle of her nose into the hollow of his neck. Most women would revel in the artificial ensnarement of a man’s cologne; not Elsa. Well… Not the traditional cologne, concocted in a laboratory, but Bucky’s own natural musk; specific and exclusive to him.

 

_“All jokes aside, sweetheart. Shuri dropped something of a bomb tonight.”_

_“She knew about us.”_

_“Oh, my dearest James.”_ The following sigh, amused and all as it might have been, prompted a crease in Bucky’s forehead without opening his eyes; his given name rarely used (even if _did_ suit her breeding better and roll off her tongue easier than _Bucky_ ). _“If only that was the extent of it. Really and truly.”_

_“A’right, baby girl.”_ The (human) male’s restful rasp came from the darkness, tired and barely attentive to his partner’s riddle. _“I’ll bite. What happened?”_

Dragged further from encroaching sleep by the sudden shadow-cloaked clambering at his side, Bucky indulged in a sigh of his own. Had this been his behaviour the night before Steve arrived for this first time? The restlessness certainly _seemed_ the same.

 

 _“Els? What’re you doin’-? **Christ!”**_ The tired whine turned to a hiss when the single room dwelling erupted with light from the bedside lamp, banishing the shadows that cocooned the bedroom/living room/kitchen. Even Cody voiced his displeasure with a small grumble and burrowed further into his “father’s” chest.

 

With a kick of her legs and a bounce, the little vet’s enchanting face hovered over Bucky’s, which, at any other time, he might have enjoyed. Now, with the uninvited assault on his delicate eyes: not so much.

****

“You’re not going to believe this.”

 

 _“I probably won’t.”_ Bucky replied, sandwiching his lids tighter together to limit the damage. _“But you’re gonna tell me anyway. Baby, do we need to do this now? Can’t it wait? I’m just droppin’ off…”_

“Love, believe me, when you hear this, you’re either going to want to throttle Shuri or hug her.”

 

_“And which did you do?”_

“Both. She got a verbal throttling, then a hug.”

 

Bucky, patient and very much in love, drew another sigh. _This better be good._ He warned himself. _Or I’ll… Lie here quietly and try and go back to sleep…_ Bleary-eyed, the White Wolf had pried his eyelids from each other and looked to the most important person in his life. _God, you’re beautiful._ He internally told the awe-inspiring sapphire eyes trained on his. _I love you so much, and that’s the only reason I’m awake right now._

_“Try me.”_

“Bucky, darling…!” _Where’d that excitement come from?! It’s one in the Goddamn morning! You been drinking, Els?!_ Up close to his weary face, the simmering delirium was not one to be ignored; not that he could have ignored it anyway when she finally parted with the crux of it. “We were **_set up!”_**

****

Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Bucky slowly processed the words. _Did she say: “set up”? Like… a sting?_ And really, the Brooklyn boy, who had spent his early years evading the mob’s recruitments, only knew a “set up” to mean one thing. The other, like in this context, not so much; not when his luck with the ladies always seemed to be in. Until Peggy Carter, of course.

 

_“You’re not makin’ any sense, angel… Set up how…?”_

 

“Shuri put your farm on my rounds **on purpose!** She wanted to make sure we would meet! Friends or lovers, it didn’t matter as long as we did! Apparently, she felt sorry for you during your therapy sessions and wanted to _inject some happiness into your life._ Her words, not mine, of course.”

 

Once again, Bucky’s brow buckled under the burden of thought, of unravelling the words uttered with such thrill. So… Shuri had seen a matchmaking opportunity? And taken it? Based on his melancholy, on his rawest moments in that chair? His most sensitive regrets and humiliations? Admissions that made this placid creature into a monster from darkest fiction? She had taken his vulnerabilities, his most painful bearings, and turned her gifted brain to them; like she had with his own mind.

 

It brought him back to something Steve had said in the bar, about Elsa being the reason for his astounding progress. Maybe Shuri had plotted that all along. That said, it still could have gone horribly wrong… But it hadn’t. Far from it. Had it been worth it, laying it all out, session after session, stomach-churning revelation after stomach-churning revelation? Looking at this captivating darling now? Absolutely.

 

Elsa was right: Bucky didn’t know whether to throttle the teen or hug her.

 

“Bucky? Love? Are you alright?” Coming to, and snapping himself from his ponderous haze, the ex-Winter Soldier (whose eyes had adjusted to the fresh light without his noticing) dropped his heed to the sweet little thing before him; watching him with endearing concern. _Maybe she shouldn’t’ve meddled. But if she didn’t, I wouldn’t have you._

“Yeah…” His articulation may have been slow, but James Buchanan Barnes had just been handed another dawning realization; a heavy one. “Just twigged I owe Shuri two life debts now, ‘steada one.”

 

 _“Sweetheart…”_ Elsa soothed, adjusting herself to lean over Cody and place herself in her partner’s space, lining her nose with his; a trademark of deepest affection they both revelled in. _“Shuri helped you because it was the right thing to do, and to honour her father’s memory. Not accrue a debt.”_ Bucky leaned into the tenderness, soaking himself in it, quenching a backlog of loneliness and sterility; an accumulation of years void of human companionship. The (much smaller) hand cradling his face may have been enough to ease him, but who was he to argue with the extra touch of devotion, of repetitive strokes of her thumb over his cheekbone? He certainly wouldn’t refuse it.

 

 _“Besides…”_ Bucky could practically taste the aside, not difficult when the lips that spoke it were almost flush against his. _“She was so **pleased** when I told her, it was the purest thing. She didn’t do it to have something to hold over us, or throwback at us, or to have a favour should she need one. That’s not our Shuri. She did it for us, darling. So, we could be happy and have a base to start a new life on. You won’t penalize her for that, surely?”_

She was right. Of course, she was right.

 

He had trusted Shuri with not only his recovery, but with the guardianship of his most delicate organ, what would he have said if he’d known Shuri would also be responsible for the making of his _second_ most delicate organ? His heart? Then handing its guardianship to someone else? This breath-taking vision before him with that encouraging smile that he would walk through fire to see? He possibly would have assumed it a cruel joke, grimaced placatingly to mask the hurt, then got on with the therapy.

 

Still… It might have been nice to have been asked. Had he refused (which was almost a certainty in his state), his rebuff would have been ignored anyway and the same hip-bouncing vet would still have been sent.

 

 _“Yeah…”_ He murmured, convinced and accepting, before rewarding himself with another peck to the lips just short of his own. At least now, he could relax. With the excitement having died down, he could retreat to restfulness, and bring his little vet with him. _“Guess you’re right. C’mon, you gotta be tired.”_

 

Yes, there seemed to be some mirroring from the night prior (or early morning of) to Steve’s arrival. Somehow though, he doubted he would have to drag Elsa from bed in the morning. More to the point, he had a far easier time of settling her than she’d had of settling him. Bucky kept his (and Cody’s) position while Elsa doused the lamp (for the cool, purity of darkness to re-usher sleep back in) and re-adopted her pre-slumber placement; as close to the solid form of the ex-Winter Soldier as she could manage. Winding down and re-succumbing to rest, perhaps there was time for a _few_ more words in the blackness.

_“Aside from that, we had a fantastic chat planning my naturalization.”_

_“Oh yeah… That’s soon, huh?”_

_“Mmm… Two weeks on Friday.”_

Bucky knew _exactly_ how close it was. His own meticulous planning had involved no one but Steve via Skype and talking out loud to Cody on their runs; neither of them likely to betray him. She wouldn’t see the smile, shrouded in the dimness, but the self-satisfied pull into his cheeks indicated it was all going to plan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	24. For the Third Goddamn Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of Elsa's naturalization arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one!

Those two weeks went quickly, and before they knew it, Friday was upon them.

 

“I can’t believe you’re going to work. On the day of your naturalization.”

 

Propped up on his only elbow, sheets strewn askew, what else could Bucky do but admire the gradually changing view? Until the still-warm nightshirt collided with his face and obstructed his vision. Not a problem; far from it when he could easily nudge it down to warm his cheek, immerse himself in the enchanting scent and resume his admiring survey.

 

“And I can’t believe you’re still in bed.” Came the haughty retort (God, he loved the strum of that accent, and everything attached to it), as a clean polo shirt wriggled down to cover her chest. “And my naturalization isn’t until tonight. I’m taking on the early rounds from tomorrow today to give myself a lie in and a chance to recuperate in the morning. Remember?”

 

“I dunno… Did you tell me last night?”

 

“Yes, love. I did.”

 

“Yeah… Last night is kinda hazy…”

 

“ _Hmm_...”

 

“Hey…” Shifting onto his back, the crook of Bucky’s arm rolled a bleary-eyed Cody onto his chest; much to his partner’s mid-dressing amusement. “He’s gonna be sad if you leave.”

 

“Emotional blackmail via the dog? Low, darling.”

 

“I’ve gone lower.”

 

“And no one knows and appreciates that better than I.” How could he restrain the chortle, inspired by the suggestive answer? Or the kinked eyebrow and provocative smirk before the trademark khaki cargo pants rode up past her hips? The opposite direction to what he would have liked, granted, but Bucky saw the logic.

 

 _“Right… Keys…”_ Normally, a mental checklist was unnecessary for the highly organized little vet; but this was not a normal day. Hence, it demanded that extra touch of preparedness and an internal crossing off of every item while she stood in a concentrative daze in the kitchen. _“Bag… Tea is in the travel mug…”_

“I think you’re missing one thing.” Bucky chipped in from the bed, impish and gleeful like the proverbial Cheshire; his state of undress not factoring into the conversation.

 

“Oh no, I haven’t forgotten that.” Elsa assured, with her trademark hip-bouncing strut closing the distance to the bed, before briefly parking her rear on the edge. “I was simply saving the best for last.” No sooner had the words left her were they inhaled and swallowed by the urgent pressing of Bucky’s lips to hers. _“Make sure everyone gets out for a bit of grazing… Feed Cody before you leave and make sure he goes to the toilet…”_ No one else would dare to presume to tell Bucky how to run his own farm, except the vet that kept it ticking over as second-in-command. And he was hardly going to berate her when he could find better things to do with her so close.

 

_“We’re comin’ back here tonight though, aren’t we?”_

_“We are… But we might be late. I don’t want to just be accepted as a citizen and run as soon as the honour is bestowed.”_ One might construe that as rude, which Elsa would rather not be. Leaning back on the bed, another male split her attention; even if he wasn’t as awake or alert as his human counterpart. _“I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”_ Elsa doted, pressing a peck to Cody’s head. _“I’ve left something special in the fridge for your dinner; just make sure daddy remembers to give it to you.”_ Then, pointedly to Bucky: “Liver. Bottom shelf. Don’t forget.” Naturally, one more peck ensued before: “I love you.”  

 

“I’ll see you at the palace.” He promised forlornly, the gentility being rewarded with one last kiss; like he knew it would be. One last affectionate nudge of her nose marked her departure, leaving Bucky to the bed, semi-naked, with only Cody for company. “Be safe. Love you too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bucky could have easily been offended when the splendour of his own naturalization did not match that of his precious partner. Well… Not that he noticed, which could have undoubtedly been the case too with his head where it was then. Then again, Elsa had been a part of the community a lot longer than he had been, serving it a lot longer than he had been, well established with the royal family a lot longer than he had been.

 

“Who tied your hair up? That’s my job.” Elsa, dressed and made-up, beamingly found her partner amid the pre-ceremony milling into the ballroom.

 

 _“You look beautiful.”_ The White Wolf couldn’t resist dropping his head to claim the lips of his lifeblood, being able to practically _taste_ his beloved’s simmering excitement, his only hand reaching to clasp hers.

 

 _“Ah, but you said that last night.”_ Elsa’s mischievous counter may have been hushed but it still had the desired effect of scrunching Bucky’s nose with merriment. _“When I had no clothes or make-up on, and my hair was all over the place.”_

 

_“Meant it then too.”_

_“Don’t look now, darling, but Shuri has us clocked. And she’s hyperventilating.”_

 

* * *

 

 

 

The ceremony more or less mirrored Bucky’s own, some six months previous.

 

The same chanting, the same drumming, the same clattering of ritualistic weaponry, and all under the watchful presiding of King T’Challa.

 

“You cannot escape now.” Came the teasing chime of King T’Challa, joining the two newest citizens and his sister in their intimate little group. As expected, the princess’s glass did not contain the same as the rest of her party; what she drank would have about the same effect on her as the contents of Bucky’s glass would have on him.

 

“Oh, I have no intention of going anywhere.” Elsa declared, inclining her head with the respect and courtesy due to any king, let alone the one that had just welcomed her into his country. That’s not to say, of course, that the formality lived on after that; not when the mutual playful roguishness rippled through the group of four. “If I did, I’d have to steal away another one of your citizens.”

 

“And we can’t have that.” Shuri agreed, admiring her handiwork in the form of the “new” couple: a very hot topic since the news broke. In typical lovebird fashion, Elsa’s back warmed Bucky’s chest while his singular arm guarded her waist; it didn’t stop him clutching his glass and lifting it intermittently. With his cheek resting affectionately atop her head, such a charming pair had not been seen since before Nakia left.

 

“We should be going soon.” The chocolate head under Bucky’s cheek rolled ever so slightly; not enough to disturb him, but enough for Elsa to direct her gaze upwards, seeking her partner’s. “Animals to see to in the morning, and Cody is at home on his own.”

 

“You told Mama you’d see her before you leave.” Why that was aimed at Bucky and Bucky only, he couldn’t be sure but Shuri was as fixated as she was pointed.

 

After all, who refuses an order from the Queen Mother?

 

* * *

 

 

“My son.”

 

It’s not everyone that is addressed as such by the Queen Mother, and it’s certainly not everyone who is greeted with open arms and a kiss to the cheek by the Queen Mother; only an adopted son of Wakanda and Queen Ramonda herself, with _very_ special circumstances. Very special circumstances that included extending his services in aiding the track down and capture of King T’Chaka’s true killer: an almost unpayable debt for the head matriarch.

 

“Mama.” Bucky automatically, instinctively, reverently reciprocated Ramonda’s kiss, pressing one to her temple instead; demanded by the height difference between the two unrelated relatives. When the two had regained their posture, the Queen Mother’s amusement turned to the fiery red ceremonial flower in her adoptive son’s hair (that had recently been in Elsa’s hair); much to his sheepish recognition when she reached up to brush her fingertips on the silky petals. “Elsa put that there after her first glass of wine.”

 

“I was so pleased when Shuri told me.” Brimming with sincerity and gentility with a tender touch to his cheek, Queen Ramonda did not mimic her daughter’s over-enthusiasm, but with the decorum threaded through her personality and status, he was no less convinced of her delight. “It took long enough.”

 

“We were together for a few months before we told anyone, Mama.” Bucky placated, casting his eyes across the crowd for eavesdroppers out of habit. “We just weren’t ready for people to know.”

 

“Walk with me, my son.” The White Wolf wasn’t given much choice, not when the smaller female looped her arm into his and goaded and steered him. Guiding him from the crowd, some approached but Ramonda’s composure alone commanded privacy. “I’ve been watching the two of you. Before, during and after the ceremony.” She relayed, eyes ahead and tone conversational but with no particular destination in mind. “Meant to be, if ever anyone was. I’ve never seen a man so puffed with pride and joy for his beloved.”

 

“Thank you, Mama. I love her. More than anyone knows. Goes deeper than I even know.”

 

“And? What do you intend to do about it?”

 

What could she possibly mean? The cock of Bucky’s styled head indicated the appropriate curiosity and while Ramonda’s gaze remained trained ahead, her adoptive son’s did not.

 

“I had thought that the next royal wedding would be T’Challa and Nakia but… it seems that is not to be. Not yet, at least.” Autopilot governed their movement; or rather, Ramonda did, and Bucky allowed himself to be directed when his mind worked on piecing the implications together. “Shuri, as you know, is not of suitable age yet for marriage, nor has a suitable match presented itself; it may never and that may be her preference. Whatever her happiness, I will support.”

 

“Mama, I don’t-“

 

“You do, my son.” Gentle but firm, kind but strong, the Queen Mother in all her royal splendour stood out a mile; ever the fashionable one. “I am not saying to _rush it._ But… All I ask… if you do intend upon it, and unless your display tonight was a false one, I assume that you do… I only ask that when the time comes, you will allow us to plan it accordingly. You are, after all, a representative of the royal household. By our insistence and by due process, granted, but a member all the same.”

 

“Uhh…” Bucky felt his stomach lurch and his brain fizzle at the realization. Christ, she **did** mean what he thought! A _royal wedding_? Him and Elsa? Broadcast to the world media? In royalty-grade opulence? Probably in the extremes of discomfort? Well out of their depth? Not to mention exposed to people neither of them would rather be exposed to? Elsa’s family and the numerous governments that still wanted Bucky’s head on a platter? No. And it wasn’t a matter of being rude.

 

“The thing is…” Sandwiching his lips, Bucky (for the first time since they started walking side by side) felt royal eyes turn to mark the side of his face. “I do intend on it. I don’t wanna be without her, and she can’t be without me neither but… It’s just… _not us.”_

“C’mon, Mama…” Bucky went on with a twinge of subtle desperation after a bite of sceptical silence. “It’s not that we wouldn’t want to…” Perhaps not the truest thing in the world. “And I know you only wanna give us the best, which we’d appreciate but… we’re not _grand_ like that. We live humble, we work humble; we’d wanna get married humble too.”

 

“And you speak for Elsa also?”

 

“I do.” Bucky answered cautiously, hoping he was getting his way without offending and upsetting the closest thing he’d had to a mother since he last saw his own in 1943 (he later discovered she had passed away in 1976). “I know her well enough by now to know she wouldn’t be comfortable. She might go along with it, but only to make you happy.”

 

“That sounds like the Lioness alright.”

 

“Besides…” Having finally regained _some_ charge over his own autonomy, Bucky managed to slow his steps and bring Ramonda with him. It was her turn to be curious and didn’t bother to restrain it in the face that may have looked older than Bucky’s but did not match it in years. “I’m still a wanted man, Mama. Wrongly: maybe, maybe not. But-“ The Queen Mother may have opened her mouth the vexingly object, but the White Wolf was not quite finished. He might have been cleared of the bombing in Vienna, but that was not the only supposed crime of the Winter Soldier; somehow, he got the feeling the FBI would be the first in line about a certain president back in 1963. “If we put it out there that I’m here, it’ll mean a helluva lotta trouble for everyone. Mostly T’Challa.”

 

 _“We would **protect you!”**_ The exasperated hiss tore at him, right into the lining of his gut, but he had to be practical. Realistic.

 

“I know. But it would only be a mattera time before they find a way and I **won’t** have more blood spilled, Mama. Especially not for me. And think ‘bout Elsa. What’d it do to her if her father turned up here, lookin’ for her? Tryin’ to cash in on her position? It’d kill her, you know it would.”

 

Did it hurt him? Touch him? To watch the reluctant resignation in those benign features? When she only wanted the best for him? To do something nice for him? When was the last time something like that happened before Wakanda?

 

“You’re right…” Ramonda accepted eventually, the brief count of hesitation giving her time to think, assess and come to a similar, logical conclusion. A pristine, ringed hand gave Bucky’s a squeeze; supportive and loving. “You’re right, of course…”

 

“It **will** happen though, Mama.” He replied, returning the squeeze in solidarity and stretching his lips to an encouraging and grateful grimace. “And when it does, we’d both want you there.”

“Well, I want to be the first to know.” Bucky sidestepped the train of the elaborate ceremonial gown as his adoptive mother bustled to resume her stride; her confident and nonchalant air resuming with it.

 

“You will be, Mama.” The White Wolf pledged with docility, falling back into step with the Queen Mother while the grimace stretched into a grin at the assertive transformation; only natural, of course, when she got her way. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

Between the late-night, the earlier than usual start, the excitement and the alcohol, it was no wonder the couple fell into bed with exhaustion. The usual hurried, passionate endeavour to undress, was little more than a sluggish second thought that night. She just about made it into her nightshirt with Bucky’s help, despite his usual efforts to do the opposite.  The enrobing darkness, so cool and soothing, lulled Elsa off easily enough.

 

Bucky? Not so much.

 

Their usual position (Bucky on his side, Elsa tucked close with his arm draped across her waist), went unchanged, despite the night and the special nature of it. And it _was_ special.

 

Ramonda’s unprecedented proposition had been just that: unprecedented. But it still harked back to a thought that stayed residually on Bucky’s mind; in that sense, it had been a lucky guess on the Queen Mother’s behalf. Especially with her timing. Like she _knew._

 

Bucky possessed a myriad of enhanced characteristics as the Winter Soldier, his eyes being just one of many. So, while the guarding darkness of the hut might have been pitch to anyone else, it was somewhat less so to the White Wolf. It allowed him to watch the dream-prompted fluttering of her eyelashes, the steady inhales and exhales lifting and dropping her chest, the pure peace in the neutrality of her face. It was almost a shame to wake her. But…

 

 _“Els…?”_ The tempo of her breathing faltered slightly; the most basic and barest change, but a change nonetheless. So, he tried again. _“Els? Baby, you awake?”_ For a moment, it would have been safe to assume the negative and the next question would have been whether or not to try again. It might have been the case, or maybe not. The groggy, confused answer from the shadows eventually relieved him.

_“Are you talking to me?”_

_“Yeah, angel. I am.”_

_“What’s the matter? Are you alright?”_

_“I’m perfect.”_

_“Is Cody alright?”_

_“Far as I can tell, but we’ll never be sure with that screwball.”_

_“Right…”_ The beat of weary silence that followed was Elsa giving her partner a chance to speak; to, perhaps, give her an explanation of _why_ he’d woken her so late (Or early? What bloody time was it?). _“Is there something I can help you with? Or can I go back to sleep?”_

_“I just wanna ask you somethin’.”_

_“Go on then. Make it quick.”_

How do you _“make it quick”?_ When there’s so much to be poured into it, a numbing fear of missing one important sentiment out of a thousand, when it may never happen again? Well… _Hopefully_ , it’ll never happen again; which would either be really good, or really bad. All this occurred to Bucky at once; so much so, he tasted blood from the subconscious burial of his incisor into his bottom lip. The best thing to do? Take a leaf out of Queen Ramonda’s book and push on regardless with an air opposite to the feeling in question.

 

There’d been several contending ways to do it; each more elaborate than the last, and each one deviating further and further than the kind of couple they had established themselves as. The usual clichés had (against his better judgement) prevailed: unimaginative, expensive, extravagant, exaggerated, unnecessary and worst of all, _impersonal._ If he knew Elsa (and if he didn’t, what the hell was he doing this for?), she’d refuse if he took any of those routes. So, it was decided: To the point, with a humorous detour.

 

_“Well… Y’know… I was gonna ask earlier but now I’m sure you’re not in it for the Green Card… Els, will you marry me?”_

For a long, torturous moment, there was nothing. Not a hum, or a whisper, or even a change in her breathing. Not until a sigh from the nothingness broke the heart-thundering torment, a shuffle disturbed the stillness, and light dispersed the shade with a _click_ of the bedside lamp.

 

While Bucky expected anger (and really, why wouldn’t he when his nerves were _shot_ as it was), there was only a small reprieve of relief when he found exhausted confusion instead.

 

 _“Am I awake?”_ She inquired, sitting up and scrunching up her face to protect her eyes but feeling the necessity all the same. She still constituted a vision that made his heart skip a beat; complete with her hair sticking up at all angles.

 

“You are.” Bucky replied apprehensively, fearful of digressing from her questioning, should it be a trick and the prelude to a tirade; at least then, she couldn’t accuse him of being a smartass. So far, though, so good; even if “on edge” didn’t _begin_ to describe what Bucky was.

 

_“Are **you** awake?”_

“Yeah.”

 

 _“I see…”_ Back ground on the headboard, Elsa sat there for another cruelly dragging moment or so (it could have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes, Bucky couldn’t tell in his suspenseful terror), while she tried to separate dream from reality. _“Did you ask me something?”_

“Yeah.”

_“My apologies, darling; I’m still a touch discombobulated. Ask me again?”_

“What? Now?”

 

_“Yes, love.”_

“I just…” _Swallow and don’t choke on it, for Christ’s sake._ “Asked if you’d marry me?”

 

The Winter Soldier’s continued success was based on being ready for anything, expecting the unexpected and never allowing himself to be taken by surprise. That included never being set upon from any distance, near or far; let alone the close confines of his own bed.

 

But Bucky wasn’t the Winter Soldier. Not anymore.

 

So, when the weight collided with his torso out of nowhere, he could admit: He panicked. Unnecessarily, perhaps, but it took a few seconds to register that the body sandwiching him to the bed, the gentle hold on his cheeks and the watering eyes boring into his were all too familiar.

 

 _“Say it again!”_ The urgency, such desperate and choked urgency, immediately evaporated any doubt or hesitation within the White Wolf. Galvanized and purposeful, he put his only arm to good use; slinging it behind her waist and pulling her as close into his lap as she could physically go.

 

“Elsa, for the third Goddamn time, will you marry me?!”

 

 _“So eloquent.”_ She teased fondly through her beam, tucking away a stray strand from her partner’s face (having come loose in his petrified fluster) while tears threatened to cloud the sapphire. _“So humble. How could I possibly say no to that?”_

 

“That a yes?!” The collision of Elsa’s lips with Bucky’s was answer enough; enough for Bucky to accept the acceptance with the single, wordless action.

 

 _“That’s a yes...”_ Another kiss drove it home; reciprocated and valued to no end. _“Christ, yes...”_ And another. _“Of course, yes...”_ Just one more. _“So many yeses…”_

“Good, you scared the crap outta me!” There was little left to do but sate the clawing craving for the straddled closeness of his _fiancé_ , drawing her tiny form closer to his chest and pressing his lips to wherever they could comfortably reach. In the meantime, Elsa’s chin twisted to her shoulder and delightedly called to the dog basket:

 

_“Wonderful news, Cody! You’re not going to be illegitimate anymore!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do drop a comment!


	25. Hair Cuts and Tennis Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding discussions get underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me!

Rightly or wrongly, Ramonda was not the first to hear of the engagement. Rightly or wrongly, it had also been promised to someone else, someone else directly involved in the planning of said engagement.

 

Placidly, Captain Steve Rogers sat in the middle of a roaring tirade. Not immune but opting to leave Sam and Natasha fight it out among themselves (the topic was so trivial, it made him even less interested), he found himself in his own pondering daze.

 

The occasional shouted word would rip its way into his little bubble then flit away again; anything from “birdbrain" to “flyboy". _Flyboy..._ Steve mulled it a lot more gently than it had been delivered first by Natasha, mid-rant. _Isn't that a Star Trek reference...? Or is it Star Wars...?_

His phone rescued him, the little ding of a text message that did not affect the back-and-forth barking on either side of him. Nor did the creeping smile when he opened the rescuing communication.

 

_You were right. She said yes. Get your best suit, punk. I'm getting married!!_

With the time difference between the States and Wakanda, the message must have been sent late night/early morning, so Steve could safely assume it had been sent immediately after the proposal had been extended. Which, incidentally, was the case.

 

“Hey.”

 

He might as well not have spoken at all; the onslaught continued on around him as if he hadn’t. So, he tried again.

 

“The first one to shut up gets to be my plus one.”

 

Now, Steve couldn’t be sure who stopped berating who first, but no sooner were the words out of his mouth, a pin could have dinned deafeningly in the room.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes two hands to chop and peel, but only one to stir; those facts dictated who did what to further the dinner preparations that night. Their first as soon-to-be husband and wife, to be exact.

 

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ an engagement ring, darling. Such an idea would be an ungrateful and unorthodox one. But… I don’t _need_ an engagement ring. And how, pray tell, would you even get one?” Not a dig at any sort of financial situation, such a dig would enter neither of their heads; not when it was comfortably far from the truth and they both knew it. He had money: enough for a head-turning ring if she wanted it; the markets had been good to him. But, like he’d already imparted to Ramonda, their preferred existence was that of simplicity.

 

“I thought that. Might make birthing a whole lot more uncomfortable than it has to be.” Bucky agreed, keeping the carrot chunks moving in the pan to soften them, while Elsa gradually added more of a selection of vegetables; both homegrown and market purchased. “I just don’t know what else to do. Kinda traditional, isn’t it?”

 

“I’ll tell you what you can do.” Elsa placated, approaching from behind and scraping the contents of the chopping board from around her fiancé’s right flank before retreating; the routine of it almost automatic by now. “You can get me a proper bed. If you do intend on _“knocking me up”_ , you could at least have the consideration to do it in a more suitable bed.”

 

There was something so overwhelmingly _tickling_ (to Bucky, at least) about the grand propriety of Elsa Kincaid’s accent pairing with brash blatancy such as that; and more filth besides. Now was no exception; and while he took cooking seriously, Bucky had to round briefly on his partner with laughter lines creasing into the corners of his eyes, stretching from the corners of his mouth. The ripples started in his chest and carried a warble into his voice.

 

_“Christ, you don’t beat ‘bout the bush, do ya?”_

 

“Neither do you, love.” Came the blunt, nonchalant reply, all the while starting on the meat without looking up. “Which is how we ended up with a pregnancy scare in the first place.”

 

_“Takes two.”_

 

“Perhaps. But when you started listing the enhanced characteristics of the Winter Soldier, I never thought I’d benefit from any of them. Enhanced stamina? I _absolutely_ **_do_**.”

 

_“You’d’a done well in our battalion with a mind like that...”_

“I wouldn’t know. The closest I’ve been to any army kinds are you and Steve. And if your conversations are any sort of indication, maybe your assessment is a correct one.”

 

“Gotta love when you talk dirty, baby.” The backdrop of sizzling and grinding against the chopping board fell in in place of conversation; a blissful, domesticated soundtrack. Bucky took the opportunity to mull, as he often did, and there had been a lot of that mulling since Elsa gave him her wonderful answer the night before.

 

Isn’t there plenty in planning a wedding? Plenty to think about and chew over? Setting a date, a time, a place… Even without the extra fluster and grandeur of a royal wedding. That said, if they _did_ agree to a royal wedding, planning may have been taken out of their hands. And since his mind had wandered to it…

 

“Mama wanted us to have a royal wedding.”

 

Elsa's carving might have slowed but did not stop completely.

 

“I trust you explained why that would be a bad idea?”

 

“Yeah.” Bucky's stirring stopped long enough to add a drop of water from the kettle, to prevent the vegetables sticking to the bottom of the pan; he had expected a cautious answer. “I understand why she'd want it, and I tried to make it out that it wasn't _our way,_ but I had to spell it out in the end. Going by how she and Shuri took it this morning, I don't think we've heard the end of it. Just ‘cause we said no to a royal wedding doesn't mean we're not gonna get one; maybe minus the media coverage.”

 

Bucky’s trekked journey to the palace that morning to impart the good news had been welcomed with delight, joy and enthusiasm. His humble sandals had traipsed the hallowed throne room of the Citadel, where it just happened for Shuri to be keeping council with her mother. The topic prior to his arrival had been heated, but he appeared to be a source of distraction when he _was_ discovered. He’d been kissed, hugged and wrung out for details by two royal females; both coming at him from either side, separate from each other, but essentially demanding the same answers. Apparently, Ramonda was not the only one in favour of royal nuptials, not when Shuri excitedly spouted the sentiment more than once. He had been detained for lunch, whether he liked it or not.

 

“There cannot be one without the other, darling. Not with the technological day and age we live in. Word would get out and before we know it, Wakanda is in the news again for a secret royal wedding.” Chopping finished, Elsa went about filling the sink to start washing up. “The world would be hungry to know and if it is not T’Challa or Shuri, then who? Such is human nature, my love.”

 

The dish had started to take shape, only the sauce to be added while the rice simmered to tenderness, but Bucky kept stirring. Until arms daintier than his own (not that that would be difficult) enveloped his middle from behind and Elsa’s left cheek sought rest in between his shoulder blades.

 

 _“I can’t help but think…”_ She began sedately, muffled by his back. _“I would have preferred to have gotten married back in your time; the whole thing would have been so much easier…”_ A second arm might have come in handy just then; to reach back for some bare touch or closeness. _“No camera phones, no internet, no over-obsession with celebrity culture to give a **shit** about who’s getting married in some far-off country…” _

“Can’t say it was the biggest adjustment I had to face…” Bucky reasoned, stirring and stirring some more; keep it moving, stop it sticking. “But yeah…I mean… Let’s face it. We’re nobodies.”

_“Here, here. I just want something small, intimate, private… We’re connected to the royal household, yes, but why should that dictate the scale and style of our wedding?”_

 

“It’s not gonna.” Decisive, the White Wolf took the pot off the heat, set it on a cold ring and turned while still in his partner’s embrace; at least now, he could return it. “We’ll do it in secret if we have to. I’d rather we didn’t-“

 

_“Nor me…”_

 

“But there’s more at stake here than just a crappy spread in some glossy magazine.”

 

_“Ugh. How tacky.”_

“And… Y’know… News travels fast now. If the wrong people get word, the groom’s gettin’ carted off before the ceremony’s even done.”

 

_“Not with Steve “Raging Fists” Rogers as your best man, darling.”_

* * *

 

 

“I was thinkin’… ‘bout cutting my hair.”

 

Bucky didn’t stop chewing but Elsa’s fork paused before her mouth and those unmistakeable sapphire eyes heightened in outright confusion; she hadn’t heard him right surely? Her partner was already watching from across the table, gaging a reaction to the words he had cagily parted with.

 

“Cutting your hair?”

 

“That’s right.”

 

Maybe he’d misjudged this. He’d expected her to be upset or even taken aback but instead, he was met with confusion and uncertainty; to such an extent that she suspended her meal.

 

“But… Why do you want to cut your hair?”

 

Bucky’s fork slowed, his eyes dropping and becoming overly interested in inspecting his food instead of eating it; poking it and prodding it for some scarce imperfection. If he was going to find any of those, they would be in the food, not Elsa.

 

“I guess… I just wanna be presen’able when I marry you.”

 

Perplexed silence greeted the revelation. She had the reason now, but it required picking apart for the little vet. Thankfully, she didn’t keep him waiting long.

 

“Bucky...” Bowl and fork abandoned; Elsa sat forward with forlorn eyes only for her future husband. “Darling… You had long hair when I met you. You had long hair when I fell in love with you. Tying up your hair in the morning was not only a practical routine, but quality time before I had to leave for the day and be without you until the evening. Was there something wrong with any of that?”

 

 **“No!”** The White Wolf sat forward with such force; his stomach collided with the edge of the table, not that the shield of solid muscle allowed much reverberation of pain. The scramble to reassure took precedent, horror-struck that she might take the wrong implication. **“Jesus, no-!”**

“Well… Do _you_ want to cut your hair?”

 

“No…” Cue the bewildered blink that subsequently leaked into his features. Truly, he didn’t. But when was the last time anyone asked what _he_ wanted? In something as basic as how he wanted his hair, at least? “No… I like it…”

 

“So, keep it.” A simple solution, really. “Sweetheart...” Elsa continued with her abundance of benevolent patience ready to be employed; much to Bucky’s gratitude when she tried to implore him. “I’m marrying _you._ Long hair, short hair, no hair. You can shave your head and glue it to your back if you so wish. Start a trend, love; I really don’t mind-“ The touched huff of laughter at the outlandish (and playful) suggestion had the desired effect, on both sides of the dinner table; Bucky no longer feared for his wedding look, and Elsa had banished that fear. “My point is: I’m not going to change you. Even if it is something as small as your hair. I’ll marry you all the same.”

 

“When Steve gets here, he’s gonna help me put some slits in a tennis ball.” Bucky steered the conversation, but the ruffle of relieved and grateful amusement left over from the last one lingered as they resumed their meal. The tantalizing, nostril-ensnaring aromas of spices and fresh bread, paired with two empty stomachs made dinner impossible to ignore for too long more.

 

“Dare I ask?”

 

“For this meatball.” He replied, with a sideways jerk of his head at Cody, who kept close vigil on the dinner table. Not surprising, really, when Bucky always managed to “drop” something from his plate.

 

“I’m still not following you, darling.” The brunette waited graciously waited until her mouthful had disappeared before she spoke; her fiancé did not always have the same courtesy. “I’m sure Cody prefers his tennis balls intact?”

 

 _“Not the only balls he would’ve wanted kept intact.”_ Of course, he hurried on with a buttering explanation before he could be chewed out. “I just thought… Y’know… It’d be nice to wedge the rings in’o and he can carry ‘em. Make him partta it, he’s partta us.”

 

“You’ve put an awful lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”

 

“You only found out ‘bout it this morning. I’ve been sittin’ on it for weeks. So’s Steve. And Cody.”

 

“And not even a _hint_.” She teased softly, leaning sideways in her chair to face the dog; his ears might have pricked for a split second until he realized she had nothing for him. To that end, he stayed loyally by his father, whose amusement resurfaced. “After all I’ve done…”

“I think it’s payback for the neutering.” He advised smugly, fork resting against the side of his bowl while his hand occupied itself with the glass of water instead. “I just thought it’d be cute. If he doesn’t swallow the Goddamn rings.”

 

“Well…” Despite the bubbly beginning, another mouthful dictated Elsa’s pause, while Bucky’s eyes heightened in waiting. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to perform impromptu surgery on Cody, now would it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do review if you enjoyed! :D


	26. Bean Fritters and Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat pays for Steve's Spotify. But Steve doesn't know that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience!

_“D'you have everything?”_ Nose to nose, the soft inquiry was hardly necessary, but if it bought some time with his beloved before he could see her again, Bucky would take it.

**“Els. If you don't get in that jeep, I'm gonna lift you and put you in _myself_! And if you don't drive, I'm gonna push you over and drive you to the apartment _myself_!”**

 

Could Captain Steve Rogers make the threat with a straight face? No. Were they even listening? Also no.

 

 _“My dress is at the apartment.”_ Elsa’s thinking mirrored her fiancé’s; and in only a few short hours, she could stop calling him that. Every extra minute counted until separation before the ultimate reunion. “ _Flowers and everything else will already be set up when we get there.”_

_“And… What about the thing you wouldn’t let me see?”_

 

“I didn't think I was gonna need a crowbar for this trip.” Steve remarked to the mutt at his side, who also watched from afar. “There one in the barn? I think it's the only way, Codes.” Cody blinked up at his Uncle Steve then refocused on his parents; the pair wrapped around each other beside the semi-loaded jeep and seemingly constantly joined at the face. “Or a hose'll do it.”

 

 _“Yes. **That** is also at the apartment.” _The little vet replied, her tone laced with mischief; the kink of her eyebrow and pull of half a smirk into her cheek edged the hushed exchange into a _different_ aspect of a wedding. _“I don’t trust your curiosity not to go poking around in my absence. But be patient, my love: you’ll see it tomorrow.”_

 

“Your mom said we can watch Lady and the Tramp after the wedding.” Steve resumed the one-sided conversation with the dog; the same animal that strummed the longing for a dog of his own. “You seen that one? Nat gave it to me for my birthday, said it would be right up my street. Bit of a tearjerker, Codes, but I won’t tell if you won’t. They kinda remind me of your mom and dad, but we’ll see what you think…”

 

 _“And Cody is havin’ a sleepover with Uncle Steve?”_ Bucky prodded with a bite of amusement, chancing a fleeting, throwaway glance at his two best friends (excluding, of course, the brunette clung to his chest) several feet away.

 

 _“Mmm… He brought Lady and the Tramp. They’re going to watch it in bed in the apartment. Speaking of…”_ Elsa’s redirection was more solid than her partner’s, letting her eyes linger on the two males of different species watching them in turn. _“I shouldn’t keep you from your wild bachelor party. They look like they have some brand of insanity lined up for your last night of freedom.”_ Nothing could have been further from the truth. Beer, food, bed early. Hardly the most offensive the world would ever see but it was all Bucky needed.

_“Yeah… Bunch’a party animals.”_ The White Wolf agreed in the same vein of restrained sarcasm, following Elsa’s gaze to where, when Steve had both their attentions, treated them to an overly enthusiastic wave. _“I think Steve brought a deck’a cards. That’s about as crazy as it’s gonna get.”_

_“But why don’t you-?”_

_“Nah. Most important day of my life tomorrow. Ain’t doin’ it tired.”_ Eyes closed in resignation, Bucky reclaimed his fiancé’s forehead with his own; soaking up every scrap of physical contact to last him until they were reunited to replenish it. But another reservation prompted him to keep her close. _“What if I have a night terror…?”_

_“You won’t.”_ Bucky’s other half promised, finding his hand on her hip, taking it in her own and giving it a supportive squeeze. _“You haven’t had one in nearly six weeks; you will be just fine without me.”_

_“What if I have one ‘cause you’re not there…?”_

_“Are you telling me you might lapse because my tiny self isn’t there beside you?”_ Elsa pressed with an inkling of sweet teasing; in an effort to hearten him and put his reluctance to bed. It partially worked, but at least the barest level of humour may have been infectious; if only slightly.

 

 _“I might.”_ He replied, the slightest suggestion of cheekiness breaking through the moroseness. _“Outta protest.”_

_“Well, if you do, call me. Or get Steve to call me, and I will be there immediately.”_

 

_“God, I wish you didn’t have to go. I mean… I can’t wait to see you again, but tonight’s gonna be torture… I’m gonna panic if I wake up and you’re not there.”_

_“Don’t let the boys hear you say that, they might misunderstand you. You’ll get through it, my love, I know you will.”_ She assured kindly, endeared by his pining when she hadn’t even left yet. _“And on that note, I’ll leave you to your torture. I love you-“_

_“Love you too…”_

_“I’ll see you tomorrow-“_

_“Mmm…”_

_“Don’t be late, Barnes.”_ One more kiss (the last of many) sealed the parting, much to Bucky’s forlornness when she turned and blew Steve and Cody a kiss before clambering into the driver’s seat. _“And don’t forget that band of misfits of yours.”_

* * *

 

Bucky did not mention a potential night terror to Steve. However, his best man had been quietly alerted to the possibility (and procedure) should the unlikely occur via a text message later on that evening. Naturally, it did not put a dampener on the night ahead, but Steve had a heads up all the same.

 

“Y’know… If you’d told me… what, seventy years ago…? How long we outta Brooklyn?”

 

“Uhh…We shipped out in forty-three, it’s twenty-eighteen now-“

 

“Christ…”

 

“So that’s… seventy-five years.”

 

“Right. If you’d told me, seventy-five years ago, that I’d be _getting married_ in _Africa_ to a _vet_ , I’da said you’d been hit too hard. And don’t even get me started on twen’y-Goddamn-eighteen.” No indulgence spared, Bucky and Steve went about un-lidding the various cartons, unveiling the fruits of their brief excursion to Tambasi after Elsa’s departure; straight to the market to choose their feast, then straight back to the farm. All under Cody’s drooling supervision, of course.

 

“Hey, if I came out and told you that, **_I’d’ve_** said I’d been hit too hard!” Snatching a hot, golden, bean fritter (much to his fingertips disapproval), Steve restrained the yelp and plopped it on a plate instead. “All we knew of Africa was what we saw in the movies, and it was hardly flattering by today’s standards. Or any standards.”

 

“Exactly. It was another world. Getting married there? To a girl, who’s never set foot in Brooklyn, who’s _so_ far outta my league-“ Cue Steve’s disapproving turn, a different lid in hand to get Bucky’s Batchelor Dinner underway. So distracted by the injustice, Cody’s tongue licking the sauce from the cover in the blonde’s dropped arm didn’t register.

 

“C’mon, Buck. We talked about this.”

 

They had. Several times. Not just where Elsa was concerned (albeit she spawned most of the self-worth conversations), but Bucky’s value as a human being, despite the horrors his body had been used for. If he didn’t see that now, on the eve of his wedding, when someone had accepted him to be hers (and she his) for the rest of their lives and based on a mutually undying love, he never would. Bucky, however, was not downcast or gloomy any longer; his observations were made with a sunny smile, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

 

“No, I know. But it’s still _crazy_ , Steve.” The White Wolf went on, emptying two cartons of rice into a larger bowl and churning it with a fork to level it. “It’s crazy now, imagine it back then! A fancy, British vet! From a family with all the money in the world! Brains, looks, everything! Settles for a soldier from Brooklyn. The guys in the Commandos would’ve had a howl, they could’ve made a picture outta it.”

 

“Don’t say _settle._ She didn’t _settle_ , she’d be the first one to tell you that. Settle down, maybe, but she couldn’t’ve done better than you; she’d tell you that too.” Dismayed, but not willing to let it ruin the evening, Steve added one more jab of pick-me-up. “And if I remember right, the vet went after the soldier first.”

 

The pair went about their selected tasks in semi-scolded silence. Until, of course, Steve could take no more. Setting his phone on the countertop and with one tap, opted to kick the night off the right way. He waited, waited for Bucky to twig it and watched him with subtle amusement from the corner of his eye until he did.

 

Eventually…

 

“Wait… That what I think it is?”

 

“Depends on what you think it is.”

 

Frozen, mid-spin, on the ball of his foot, Bucky listened. Forehead creased and face contorted, the familiar tune massaged his ears and tantalized his brain; something from long, long ago that teased him and taunted his memory, daring him to place it. Something that, truth be told, he’d almost forgotten about. Something so simple but so powerful.

 

“Is that… _The Dorsey Brothers?”_

 

“Wanted to see how long it’d take.” The blonde confessed, chewing on the amusement and warmth of the effect; even more so witnessing Bucky advancing on his device with utter bewilderment ironed into every feature. “How many dance halls we get kicked outta to the Dorsey Brothers?”

 

 _“I’ll be damned…”_ He rasped, awestruck and reaching out cagily to touch the screen; the age-old tune playing on unaffected. That fantastically jazzy tune, an aural depiction of New York in the 1930’s when Steve and Bucky ran riot in (mostly) carefree teenage years. _“Fine and Dandy… Shit, it’s been a long time. Never thought I’d hear that again…”_

“Thought so. Had to start with something good. Didn’t think Hydra had much taste in music.”

“They didn’t.” Bucky took the joke in the nature it was intended; much to Steve’s relief, even if Bucky was still immersed in the screen and how it played a dormant song that had meant so much to them. “How’re you doing that?”

 

“It’s an app. It’s called Spotify.” Steve explained, taking a scissors to the plastic rings around the beer and shredding them to little more than confetti; _no fish is getting stuck in **that.** _“They all have it; Wanda, Sam, Nat… Nat let me listen to hers and when I got hooked, she put it on my phone too. It’s got everything, Buck. You name it, it’s on it.”

 

 _“I’ll ask Baby…”_ The ex-Winter Soldier murmured (though Steve was not excluded), transfixed and wondering what would happen when _Fine and Dandy_ ended. _“She might know…”_

“C’mon, soup’s on.” Hesitantly, Bucky left the device that played on of its own dictation and joined his life-long friend (albeit with a significant gap in between) at the table. Plates loaded with enough for seconds and thirds, would the enhanced individuals get through it all? If they did, it might result in a food coma deep enough for Bucky to miss his own wedding.

 

“So, what happens tomorrow?” Steve finally got the better of the bean fritter that had burned his finger; the crunchy casing and the meaty bean filling tasting all the sweeter with the triumph. “I know where we gotta be but-“

 

“At least that’s one of us.”

 

“Whatta ya mean: “ _at least that’s one of us_ ”?!” The blonde interrogated after a chewing pause and a hard, disbelieving stare while Bucky munched on, unfazed. “You’re tellin’ me you don’t know where you’re gettin’ married?!”

 

“Els did all that.” The darker one shrugged his disclaimer while the fairer one blinked; incredulity responding to nonchalance. “I told her: “I don’t care where I marry you, or how I marry you, just as long as I do.” And I meant it. So, I let her do what she wanted. I know there’s a barbecue-sorta-banquet thing happening in the palace after; she asked me what I thought of that, I was on board, and that was about as much input as I gave.”

 

“Jesus, Buck…”

 

“Could’a been worse.”

 

“How?!”

 

“They wanted a royal wedding. Mama and Shuri. And T’Challa, when he found out.”

 

Beloved bean fritters (to such an extent that Captain Rogers had tried several times to replicate the recipe at home but always failed miserably) dumbfoundedly forgotten, the other side of the table became a source of stupefied fascination while Bucky happily carried on with his last evening meal as a free man.

 

“This… This I gotta hear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do review!


	27. Vibranium Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has to negotiate quietly with the ring-bearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there!

“I don’t care where I marry you, or how I marry you, just as long as I do.”

 

How many times had Elsa gotten that answer? Had she sighed or rolled her eyes at it every time she asked him for input? Giving him a chance to have a say in his own wedding? After all, it was his day too. Eventually, she gave up asking and went about compromising on both their behalves. Turned out, it was easier than she thought when she found _just the right spot._

* * *

 

 

The gentle milling of activity kept the beasts at bay, but they would not be disturbed for long. Soon, the wildlife would have that patch of their jungle back, and more importantly, the natural pond and the waterfall that filled it; the nature-conscious vet would make sure of it.

 

But until then, the wedding flowers (their white set off the blood-red and flamboyant pink of their wild counterparts), the few chairs and the short roll of red-carpet would be part of the already awe-inspiring scenery.

 

The setting was not the only thing spruced for the wedding. Three males, each handsome in their own way, had made special efforts beyond their usual. Showered (Cody included), styled and dressed, these enhanced individuals (and their dog) were not the last to arrive but took their places and waited; one more fretfully than the other.

 

“You scared?” Steve, as per the initial text informing him of the engagement, had brought his best suit. The groom was not quite so formal, not in a traditional sense; Christ, even the _thought_ of a tuxedo or a three-piece could nudge him over the edge. Instead, he opted for the same royal blue garb he’d donned for his naturalization; it only made sense to connect the garment with his two most joyous days, and both only six months apart.

 

The second of those days, the day that Bucky took his British-Wakandan lifeline as his wife, could not have been more perfect if they chose the conditions themselves. The breeze weaving through the jungle palms and rustling them gently kept the temperature of the clearing idyllic; while the palms themselves provided shade, they allowed an airy light, just right for the occasion.

 

The soundtrack epitomized their natural surroundings, and all they needed for the close, intimate day they'd craved since the idea had been conceived. Exotic birds and insects chirped and serenaded in the encompassing trees; uninvited but by no means unwelcome guests. Their numbers were many, but they impacted little on the few trusted gathered to witness this very private affair.

 

The playful splash of the waterfall and it’s continuous churning was probably another reason not to dawdle in this magical setting too long, other than overstaying one’s welcome, the pre-mature exit of breakfast beverages stirred up by the waters flow. Namely the bride who would not have been able to resist her ritual morning cup of tea and her tiny (like the rest of her) bladder.

 

“Last time I was this scared, I was comin’ outta cryostasis and listenin’ to those Goddamn words.” Bucky replied hoarsely, his breath short and shaky but nothing compared to the butterflies that beat mercilessly in his stomach. He took great solace in stretching out his only hand and finding Cody’s hairy head beneath it immediately; that animal was worth his weight in Vibranium for all the times he’d simply been there when Bucky needed him. “It’s the same. Scared of what’s gonna happen. My gut’s in my throat, I feel like I’m gonna die…”

 

“Nothin’s gonna happen.” Casting an amused eye down the carpet, the blonde felt his cheeks stretch when his eyes landed on something _spectacular._ “Just do me a favour, Buck.”

 

“Sure...?”

 

“Don't turn around.”

 

What’s the natural thing to do when someone says that? Turn around, of course! And Bucky Barnes was no exception. The ex-Winter Soldier might have been fast in turning but thankfully, Captain America was faster with a hand on his shoulder, spinning him back before he could catch a snatch of anything.

 

“’Cause you'll _definitely_ die.”

 

“What?! Why?!” Perhaps the wonderstruck silence that followed was hardly fair, keeping him in suspense like that; but Steve righted himself before Bucky’s nerves could grate too hard.

 

“She's coming, pal. And she's _beautiful_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve was right. She was coming, and she was _beautiful._ Even the night of her naturalization, magnificent and all as she had been, did not hold a _patch_ on what the White Wolf eventually turned and found. Immediately, upon that breath-taking discovery, Bucky’s mouth dried, his breath hitched and his eyes, blessed by the sight, began to water; with them, his brain fizzed with the decision to either laugh or cry.

 

_“You were right...”_

_“’Bout what, Buck?”_

_“I’m gonna die. Holy shit, it’s like someone’s put my intestines in a blender…”_

Naturally, the quake in Bucky’s entire being was not placated by the utterly ecstatic and excited beam splitting Elsa’s face at the very sight of him.

 

Tradition, as wonderful as it can be, was kept loose that day. Of course, Elsa’s father had been issued no invite and therefore, had not made an appearance; so, the bride felt it only fitting for the one responsible for the whole fiasco to be the one to escort her. Shuri had jumped at the opportunity.

 

Partially pinned back, partially loose with tiny white and gold flowers scattered through it at random intervals, Elsa’s dark kinks were a far cry from her day-to-day, work-practical ponytail. She had traded her unofficial uniform polo shirt and cargo pants for a knee-length gown of ivory with the palest hints of silvery gold (only visible in certain twists of the light) threaded through in a delicate pattern; if Elsa had ever been known to go formal, it was _her._ Shuri hugged the brunette, uttered something then took the same respectful distance from the bride as something akin to a bridesmaid; not too dissimilar to what Steve had from the groom and not before greeting her mother first, of course.

 

Cody strained on his lead in Steve’s hand, the very idea of restraint foreign to the poor dog whose freedom had always (upon finding his mother and father, at least) been guaranteed and unquestioned. In a bid to ease him and his high-pitched whines, Cody got his greeting kiss first.

 

 _“I’m here, sweetheart. I missed you too.”_ Came the sweet assurance, swiftly followed by a press to his forehead. The tennis ball lodged in his mouth with the promised slits did not go unnoticed. _“You kept them out of trouble for me? I knew I could count on you.”_ Rising, Elsa embraced Steve like a brother; complete with an affectionate rocking side to side before the bride’s attention turned again.

 

 _“Who keeps doing your hair when I’m not around? I’m becoming concerned.”_ The humour was a mercy, giving him something else to focus on and somewhere else to put his attention than the frenzied carnage of nerves his body had housed since that morning.

 

 _“I’m gonna say: Not the same person who does your hair.”_ Bucky replied with the same mellow injection of humour, the bundles upon bundles of nerves evaporating in an instant when she, the soother of his tortured soul, leaned into his space. _“Steve told me not to turn around, said I’d die when I saw you.”_ Like the most natural thing in the world, Bucky’s eyes found Elsa’s, then his hand enveloped hers and the resulting squeeze solidified the squirming in his gut to absolute determination. “ _Can’t drop dead now with you lookin’ like that.”_

 

 _“That blue truly brings out your eyes. But I confess, I’m particularly fond of the dress.”_ She chirped softly, with edges of pride at her selection. _“Can you guess why?”_

_“Tell me, angel.”_

Was it possible for the little vet to lean in any closer? She certainly found a way. Bucky might have been expecting some romantic profession, or a hint that it would be easy to get off. Instead, to his stunned merriment, and before T’Challa gathered himself, Elsa parted with:

 

_“It has **pockets.”**_

 

* * *

 

 

Wedding rings are traditionally forged from either gold or silver. Some exceptions include platinum, and the rarer castings of titanium or tungsten. Whatever the case, they are usually of high value from a literal or a sentimental perspective. But if one goes to the trouble of securing a (for argument's sake) platinum wedding ring over the more common choice of gold or silver, cost and material value is clearly a factor in that decision. And to each their own, whatever their prerogative.

 

Vibranium, however, at ten thousand US dollars per gram, would be an even more luxurious option for the world’s elite _if_ they could get their hands on the closely guarded (and almost mythical) metal. Exorbitant price and worth aside, Bucky and Elsa paid no heed to the value and focused instead on the rings as they were intended: as a very special gift from the royal household; secured in a tatty tennis ball, of all things.

 

The famous might of Vibranium (as a wielder of it in attendance could verify) echoed the couple’s strength as a unit. Its durability resonated the challenges they had already overcome together and would rise to meet in the future as one. Its astronomical value mirrored the value the pair placed on each other as partners in life and love. And lastly, it’s incredible bonding properties reflected the everlasting, unwavering dedication to each other, that would continue throughout whatever course their lives might take.

 

Tradition, again, had to compensate. Bend to fit the extraordinary circumstances of these two people that had met in similarly extraordinary circumstances. As it happened, one of those people had to make do without the hand that a wedding ring customarily sits upon. Short of driving his (imminent) wife’s jeep, it had stopped James Buchanan Barnes from doing virtually nothing. Something he took great satisfaction from; not being a burden or a problem.

 

“I have… never done this before.” How many couples, especially a simple vet and farmer, could have their union officiated by a king? Better still, when that king is a close, personal friend of said vet and farmer. Every present individual (which consisted only of Bucky, Elsa, Cody, Steve, Ramonda, Shuri and T’Challa) held their own bursting feelings of joy and jubilation for the couple standing tight by the waterfall, and King T’Challa was no exception.

 

“But the two that I do it for, I could not be any more honoured and humbled to be part of something that is so clearly destined to be.” Chest puffed and chin inclined, his gaze flickered between the two with the utmost pride and simmering delight for his companions and his involvement in their next step together. “However, full credit, of course, goes to Shuri. I know she will not stand still until I say it.” As if to confirm it, the teenager cast her smugness to the lovebirds before her and basked in the soft ripple of laughter at the playful acknowledgement.

 

“When I first discovered the plot to push two perfect strangers together, I told her: “Shuri, don’t meddle”. I knew or should have known that warning would fall on deaf ears and, indeed, it did.” The high-spirited (more so than usual) King T’Challa continued, his eyes falling on the hottest topic of conversation since Bucky’s initial arrival nearly two years previous. Side by side, Elsa’s arm looped into Bucky’s while one’s hand warmed the others and a flower-dotted head found a sturdy shoulder for affectionate support. “That is not to say that had Shuri done as advised that we would not be here today. Looking at the two of you now, we would be here, one way or another, for to deny such a handsome match would be a fool’s errand.”

 

“I could not, in good conscience, have allowed you to leave Wakanda upon your curing.” Despite the physical closeness of the couple, T’Challa managed to isolate Bucky in his address, speaking only to him as if those gathered could not hear. “Not only would it have been detrimental to you, but to her as well.” The bare nod prompted a slight tweak of Bucky’s head to the cheek resting on his shoulder; the curiosity clear. “She spoke so highly of you and your assimilation; I should have known Shuri had already been successful.”

 

“The White Wolf and the Lioness.” Wakanda’s son fondly declared; the two animals that equally came to symbolize two individuals who had risen and conquered their own adversities. “Fearsome alone, but unstoppable as a unit; pack, pride or simply a pair. Today is only the beginning, there is far more to come where the unit will triumph, where the lone would not.” Unable to resist, and caught up in the mutual bliss, Bucky pressed an adoration-laced kiss to Elsa’s head; his lip grazing a flower as he did so.

 

T’Challa’s regard turned to the immaculate Captain America; the man who had started as an enemy with the Sokovia Accords, the Vienna Bombing and the tarmac at Leipzig airport. Through time and understanding, Steve Rogers had turned into more than an ally, but a friend.

 

“Do you have the rings?” For a moment, Steve drew a blank. Then he remembered, dropping his eyes to the mutt, that the near priceless rings had been entrusted to the dog… who had a behavioural obsession with tennis balls.

 

“Uhh… No. But he has… Maybe-!” Out of pure instinct on both party’s behalves, Steve yanked back Cody’s lead and T’Challa had started forward, intended on taking the invaluable objects to employ them in their purest purpose. “Maybe you should let me do that. He’s uhh… a lil bit possessive.” It didn’t take long but experience wrestling the ball off Cody came in handy for the blonde, especially now at such a critical time. “Lemme… Lemme wipe ‘em first…”

 

* * *

 

 

“Bucky.” _Start with the eldest_ , T’Challa’s logic dictated; a good a way as any. The personification of level and focus, the king’s hands sandwiched together and inclined from one to the other; as their references arose. Naturally, the ex-Winter Soldier straightened dutifully; preparing himself with another steadying squeeze of his beloved’s hand for the ultimate step. “The Lioness is strong, but strength can falter in anyone. Will you guard her when she is weak?”

 

“I will.” As if the unwavering patriot readied himself for the Pledge of Allegiance, or when he’d first been drafted to serve his great country, the promise was just as serious, and Bucky made it with the same proud faithfulness; excitement even.

 

“Will you pick her up when she has fallen and dust her down again?”

 

“I will.”

 

“Will you love her unreservedly and unconditionally in her darkest moments and cherish her in her brightest ones?”

 

Did he even need to say it? Was it not so glaringly obvious how he adored her? Worshipped the ground she walked on? After all she had done for him? Given him a life and love in his darkest time when he felt he deserved neither? Even if he didn’t _need_ to say it, he _wanted_ to announce it with fervour to the world, shout it from every rooftop in Wakanda. But for now, he would settle for the intimate declaration in front of his nearest and dearest. The bubbling elation pulled the corners of Bucky’s mouth higher into his cheeks, crinkling the crevices of his eyes as he savoured those two small words.

 

“I will.”

 

“Elsa.” Heed piqued for her turn, the little vet donated her full attention to the man before her; warrior, king, friend. “The White Wolf is strong, but strength can falter in anyone. Will you guard him when he is weak?”

 

Elsa’s dark head reshuffled and redirected to the man she went to bed beside and woke up even closer to. The man that knew her body, her mind and her soul as well as she did. The man that had made her laugh, cry, smile and scream (albeit, not necessarily in a bad way). The man that, in a few short months, had made her feel more loved, wanted, appreciated and revered than years with her previous fiancé. There was only one answer and Elsa parted with it breathlessly.

 

_“I will.”_

 

“Will you pick him up when he has fallen and dust him down again?”

 

_“I will.”_

“Will you love him unreservedly and unconditionally in his darkest moments and cherish him in his brightest ones?”

 

This was it, the absolute embodiment of them and their commitment to each other. Living together, sleeping together and telling each other every day how much they loved each other is one thing. But this… This would seal it and proclaim it to the world. To that end, and galvanized in her complete certainty, Elsa’s hushed response brimmed raw, sincere emotion.

 

_“I already do.”_

“Captain, the rings please.” Steve had negotiated with the mutt; taking Elsa’s tip and squirreling a second ball, a decoy, away in his suit pocket for “the old switcheroo”. By the very fact of the rings being secured in the blonde’s pale hand (and wiped), it had worked a treat. Bucky (with some manoeuvring support from his bride) secured the Vibranium band to the ring finger of Elsa’s left hand. The same (if slightly different) came upon Bucky’s turn; his right hand, for now, would serve instead for the exalted pedestal of his wedding ring. With the rings exchanged, two different sets of blue locked and matching beams immoveable with only one thing left to do; of course, they were already close enough to do it.

 

“I think…” T’Challa began, impishly nonchalant in both tone and expression, gaze flickering between the two in knowing. “There is only one thing left and you have been itching to do it since you both laid eyes on each other today. So… You know what to do.”

 

Indeed, they did. And neither could remember a sweeter kiss before that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do review!


	28. On Its Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Elsa revel in wedded bliss. But there's something else in the air, and it's not love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter! Nearly four and a half thousand words!

_Bliss._

Pure, absolute, and unadulterated _bliss._

 

The new bed may have been bigger (with a mechanism to fold into the wall so as not to cause an obstruction during the day) but the extra space held no bearing on the newlyweds or their closeness on that glorious morning: their first as husband and wife.

 

_“That you, Mrs Barnes?”_

 

The soft titter confirmed it; even if her immediate heat, the tight knit of her body against his and her tickling breath on his collarbone did not.

 

 _“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”_ Bucky had learned to disassociate his rank from the Winter Soldier; they were, after all, not entwined and never had been. When Sergeant Barnes died in the Alps, the Winter Soldier was born not long after but the two had never overlapped. Aside, perhaps, from the occasional snide reference from a handler or Zola that his mind would have been too boggled to process while in Hydra’s clutches. But who better to help him disconnect the two than this magnificent creature; watching him from beyond shy, half-lowered butterfly lashes? “ _How’s the wife?”_

 

 _“She looks real good from up here.”_ Came the sedate and enamoured (if somewhat cheeky) reply; relaxed and completely at peace with everything around him, especially _her._ How could he resist that beguiling face; clean of make-up and cosmetics? The dimples that punctuated her cheeks, first thing on that special morning, sent Bucky’s heart aflutter; so much so, he _had_ to give in and press the first kiss of the day to her forehead. A second one to her lips soon followed. _“You’re awake early. What happened?”_ For the second time in only a few seconds, Bucky succumbed to temptation again, but the avenue took a _dirtier_ turn. _“Immune to enhanced stamina already?”_

_“As much as I love you, darling, you **are** vile.” _The little vet’s tutted retort ruffled a reverberating chuckle in the White Wolf’s chest; but even she shared the humour, the scolding little more than jest. _“But no, most likely I will drift again. I think I woke to let Cody out, but it seems we are dog-less this morning…”_

_“Nah, Steve’s holdin’ the baby for a change.”_ Maybe Bucky’s beloved _wife_ was onto something with _drifting again_ , but it may have to wait until after the girls (and William) were fed and left out for the day. But… _five more minutes. “Wishes he had a dog of his own, but he makes do with Cody while he’s here.”_

 

 _“A very responsible attitude to have.”_ Elsa conceded dozily, tranquilized by a combination of heat, fatigue and comfort; teetering on the edge of dropping off again, as predicted. _“Steve’s lifestyle would make for a very miserable dog; jetting here, there and everywhere with the poor pup left behind without knowing why. At least he understands that it would be unfair and inconsiderate to have a dog for when it suits him and just left alone while he’s off saving the world. I suppose, I would expect nothing less of Steve; if he had a dog, he would love it too much to subject it to that. Or any animal. He’s quite fond of Louise now.”_

“I’ll make sure to tell him he’s got veterinary approval.” Bucky, speaking of animal welfare and the necessary sacrifices made when one is serious about sharing their life with any class of beast, had hauled himself to the side of the bed. Perched on the edge, like he wasn’t _entirely_ sure why he was up just yet (so much for _five more minutes_ ), the White Wolf waited for the life to return to his body; or just enough to go outside and tend to the animals before he could return to his wife. “And it’s hard not to be fond of Lou. Girl doesn’t even know she’s a Goddamn chicken. A’right…” Resigned to his fate, the fresh groom started to dress; only the bare, minimum essentials to grace the outside world without causing a scandal. “Get out, ‘pologise to the girls for whatever they heard, get back in.”

 

 _“I would offer a second run with **that** -“ _Turning over leisurely with a luxurious stretch to match, the casual flick of Elsa’s hand dropped Bucky’s heed to his feet; where _the thing she wouldn’t let him see_ had been tossed, discarded, in a heap. As it turned out, the novelty of it didn’t outweigh the excitement of what lay underneath it. Now, it simply represented another conquered barrier, disposed of where it belonged: on the floor. _“But in our haste in getting it off, it seems to have been damaged beyond repair.”_

“I said I was sorry.” Chair claimed at the kitchen table as a more solid grounding to tug on his boots, Bucky’s impish reply matched the proud curve of his lip; none of it lost on his wife. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

 

 _“Bridal lingerie is only bridal by sentiment and intention, my love. You can buy me all the lingerie you wish; it may even be white…”_ Elbow propped, and chin seated neatly in her palm, Elsa was about as put out about the ruined unmentionables as Bucky was. Lazily, she observed the disappointing spectacle of her husband dressing but continued her goading, nonetheless. _“However, our wedding night is over, so anything you buy me is just that: lingerie. But please… Do feel free.”_

_“I set up all the feed yesterday_ …” Dressed, booted and on his feet, Bucky retraced the sacred pilgrimage to the new marriage bed and doubled to catch Elsa’s lips with his own; like a brief excursion to the outbuildings equalled going to war and never coming back. _“A distraction to stop me callin’ you.”_ Naturally, and like all other instances, the initiated kiss was returned with the full fervour and affection with which it was gifted. _“Gimme ten minutes. I’ll be right back. Love you.”_

_“I love you too. I don’t really intend upon moving.”_

_“I know. That’s why I’ll only be ten minutes.”_

* * *

 

Elsa had attended weddings before, prior to uprooting her entire existence and absconding to Wakanda.

 

The most ridiculous, ostentatious, cringeworthy, wasteful and mind-numbingly tacky of those, had been her brother, (the least wretched of the three) Richard’s. A near week-long festival of garishness with enough opulence to make the Royal Family heave; but such is the consequence when one blindly marries a gold-digger with more entitlement than taste. The contrast, Elsa recalled, lying there waiting for her husband, was _incredible._

True, the latter half of Bucky and Elsa’s wedding _had_ been hosted in the Citadel, _had_ been waited upon by royal staff, _had_ been attended (and officiated) by members of royalty but… their wedding dinner had, essentially, been a barbecue. On the same torch-lit expanse of balcony that Bucky had rejected her on some seven months previous. Of course, she could not allow the evening to pass without a sly jibe in that vein in the same spot. _He just walked away and left me, Steve!_ She’d told the snickering blonde as Bucky’s lips thinned, unimpressed. _Seven months later, he can’t marry me fast enough!_

 

That said, and the few token gestures of restrained luxury (had Ramonda had her way, there would have been a _lot_ more) aside, Bucky and Elsa had retreated to their little farm, to their little hut, to their foldable bed and spent the night in wedded rapture. _I’d carry you over the threshold…_ Bucky had sheepishly imparted once they got home. _But I’d have to throw you over my shoulder, and I don’t think that’s the vibe we’re goin’ for…_

 

Resting among the tousled sheets of mixed scents, Elsa cast her mind back and remembered the eye-rolling lengths her brother had allowed his wife to take their nuptials to. If they were even still married; they had not been on the best of terms upon her departure some two years prior, which would have meant a hefty divorce settlement. Either way, the gold digger won.

 

The champagne reception and constant flow of the expensive sip throughout the night, the insanely luscious food, the four dress changes her sister in law had gone through on the first night; all of which held an exorbitant price tag. The outrageously affluent venue, the outlandish entertainment, the over-the-top wedding favours, the lavish transport… Had Elsa even been the slightest bit materialistically inclined, she might have gloated over the fact that her wedding ring alone was probably worth more than her brother’s entire gaudy shit-show of a wedding spectacle. However, the fact that Elsa probably couldn’t get out of bed (the ecstasy-ravished ache in her loins partially the reason) if she tried was enough to tell her that her own simplistic and unextraordinary wedding reigned supreme.

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner time can be lonely; particularly when one is so overly familiar to the public that to let anyone get too close can be a potential hazard. Something that Captain Steve Rogers was acutely aware of, almost to the point of paranoia; as Natasha persistently teased. Did it pluck at him to see the beatific happiness of his closest friend and his new wife? To avoid accusations of jealousy, Steve would never admit that it did; but the fact remained.

 

The doleful flashbacks were automatic, Bucky and Elsa in Wakanda; the hesitant goodbyes the night before the wedding, the next afternoon when they were finally reunited and the way they clung to each other on the balcony after. Elsa ceaselessly seemed to have a farm-toned arm around her waist, or a set of lips pressed to somewhere on her face; actions of the purest adoration that Steve couldn’t help but envy. And he hated it. Time had no bearing on it; a week later and he still had to snap himself from them.

 

Still, when his phone vibrated on the table beside his forsaken meal for one and the familiar number registered, he picked it up immediately. The vibration continued in a steady stream, the messages flowing and appearing before his very eyes.

 

**YOU**

**WILL NOT BELIEVE**

**WHAT MY GODDAMN WIFE**

**HAS GONE AND DONE**

Perfect forehead creased; Steve’s thumb poised to start to fathom an answer. What the hell? Trouble in paradise already? Couldn’t be. Not these two. The two made so specifically for each other in two different times that the universe twisted so freakishly to accommodate. Before he could begin to articulate the confusion, another message joined the strange scroll.

 

**WAIT TILL YOU SEE THIS**

Then… A picture.

 

At first, Steve squinted and frowned in a bid to pick apart the image. So small and compact, it didn’t look like much. Then, it occurred to him to turn the phone and that unravelled it for him. Were those… _donkeys?_ They certainly looked like donkeys; a tad bedraggled, perhaps, but what did city boy Steve know? Either way, the picture depicted two donkeys of the darkest chestnut; rather handsome creatures really. If they did appear unkempt, Steve could only assume they had been plucked from an unsuitable situation to be built up again; something Bucky would take great pride and satisfaction in before he doted on them for as long as they lived.

 

**LOOK WHAT SHE GOT ME**

**I TOLD HER MONTHS AGO I WANTED A DONKEY**

**SO SHE GETS ME TWO**

**COS THEY GET LONELY**

**I MARRIED AN ANGEL, STEVE**

Steve allowed himself a chuckle; how could he have thought there was something wrong? Thankfully, a response started to trickle from the blonde’s brain through his thumb and onto the screen.

 

**She’s a keeper alright, Buck. They’re cute, can’t wait to meet them. They got names?**

The sequence of tell-tale dots started to bounce on the screen; a reply being typed. A moment later, Steve’s patience was rewarded.

 

**Sophie’s on the right, Mac’s on the left. Sophie’s my engagement present, and Mac is my wedding present, but she had to give them to me together. Cody’s used to being the biggest thing round here so he’s not happy!!**

Steve could believe that; poor mutt, not the biggest fish anymore, but if those donkeys were going to be treated to the same transformation and life that Cody had (and he had every confidence in it), they were going to be exceptionally happy animals. Or that was the plan, at least.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**_ Two Weeks Later. _ **

**__ **

“You’re lookin’ a helluva lot better, aren’t ya? Yeah… Coat’s a lot better…” Daily brushing, to strengthen the remaining coat and to stimulate growth in the bald patches, was essential; not that there were many of those left. But still, Bucky dedicated at least half an hour a day to each donkey for just that. “G’boy. And you’re comin’ outta your shell too, huh? Not so shy no more. I was kinda worried ‘bout that, but I gotta say, I’m really prouda you… And you, Soph…”

 

It was not unusual or unexpected for Mac’s neck to twist and his head to nudge Bucky’s torso. Nor for the hot, heavy breath to billow around the buttons of his tucked work shirt and onto the skin underneath. The donkeys, like the rest of the farm-dwellers, had learned quickly.

 

“Nice try.” He remarked, unable to restrain the grin as Mac poked and prodded for his pockets; Bucky continued the grooming regardless. “Your girl cleaned me out, but I’ll get you somethin’ else soon as I’m done, pal. Sound fair? ‘kay…”

 

Grooming complete, Mac placated with half an apple (Sophie got the other half just for being there, despite emptying the treat pockets) and both donkeys looking as well as they possibly could, other chores demanded Bucky’s attention.  

 

Goat leavings sectioned, bagged and ready to be shifted, Bucky went about doing just that. Effortlessly and without hindrance, the White Wolf lifted and hurled the sacks onto the waiting cart under the supervision of the local children. They had never feared him, even less now that their community’s vet had claimed him as hers and their marriage had gotten them a day off school in celebration by royal decree.

 

The task, menial and all as it tended to be, had sucked Bucky in; grabbing the burlap sacks a certain way and swinging them just right so as not to split them when they landed on the cart. The White Wolf had it down to a fine art, but so immersed in it, the trilling of his phone almost did not register. Until…

 

“Hello…?”

 

He knew that warbling, that desperate attempt at communication, he’d heard it before. This time though… Instead of cautious curiosity, urgency prevailed to a worrying extent.

 

“Steve?” Bucky pressed, anxiety starting to ebb prematurely; or maybe not so prematurely when the warble intensified alarmingly, and static started to crackle intermittently. “Steve?! That you?! You okay?!” It took ten seconds of more scramble before the call was cut short and Bucky was left staring, unnerved, at his device.

 

 _Maybe he’s in a bad area…_ Bucky reasoned, trying to quell the encroaching panic while still fixated on the phone; perhaps hoping for Steve to try again, but clearer this time. A moment or two ticked by and… nothing. _Lemme try something else…_

**“Everything alright?”**

Elsa had nothing against Bucky calling her at work; in fact, she had been known to call him when she had a spare moment herself. But if he ate into her time, she could run into time-sensitive delays which could impede her getting home, and that would not suit the White Wolf. This though… This prompted a response that went outside their norm.

 

“Els, baby, did Steve call you? Or try to?” Where she was, or what she was doing, he couldn’t be sure but with no interference or static, Bucky could be assured his device was not the one at fault.

 

**“No, love. You’re the first all day. Why?”**

“He tried to call me, but it was all a jumble. Couldn’t make out a word he said, and it kept breakin’ up with crackling and buzzing. I dunno, I’m just gettin’ a bad feeling ‘bout it.”

 

 **“I don’t know what to tell you, darling. He hasn’t tried to contact me. Maybe he called you by accident? Or… he’s on the jet? He might need somewhere to lie low and he can’t tune into the frequency properly for fear of giving away his location? I wouldn’t worry about it, sweetheart; he’ll be fine.”** That was supposed to be comforting, Bucky knew that, but still, something had begun to squirm in his stomach and squeeze his intestines. To make matters worse, Cody had bolted from nowhere, darted past him to his usual vantage point overlooking the road. He did it every day to welcome his mother home, but there was something worryingly _different_ about this. **“Perhaps you should expect him? The key to the apartment is where it always is-"**

 

“You nearly home?” Bucky cut across cagily, watching the hackles spring up on the black bristles of Cody’s back; his tail high and his ears almost matching it. “Got lunchtime off?”

 

 **“No?”** The answer only deepened the gaping pit in his stomach; if it wasn’t her, why did Cody keep such tense watch? Then again, that **_rumbling_** growl (a very uncharacteristic thing for his happy-go-lucky mutt) and snarling lift of his lip would _never_ be for Elsa. **“I’m about an hour away. It will be about the usual time, I’m afraid.”**

“A’right…” Unconvinced, but unwilling to worry his wife as well as himself, Bucky (hollow and all as he might have sounded) remained calm and allowed the conversation to peter out. All the while, the White Wolf could not move his eyes from the statuesque Cody, who waited for someone or something unwelcome. “Kay… I’ll uhh… Talk t’you later.”

 

**“Do let me know if you hear from Steve, won’t you? Just to make sure he’s alright. I’ll see you later. I love you.”**

“Yeah… Yeah, I will. Love you too…”

 

Utterly distracted and unsettled, Bucky blindly hung up the phone and took a few cautious steps towards the dog. The black and tan’s ears stayed dauntingly pricked, his obsession remaining trained on the road.

 

“You okay, Codes?” The ex-Winter Soldier inquired warily, stopping short a few paces for a safe distance between him and his loyal companion. _If an animal is distressed,_ He could hear Elsa in his mind, probably before she and Bucky ever became an item, when she first gave him the basics of animal husbandry. _Give it space, unless you need to restrain it safely to move it from the situation that has it distressed. If it is frightened or injured, it may attack. It is a defence mechanism for self-preservation, it does not understand that you’re trying to help it. Do not take it personally._

“S’matter, buddy?” Crouched and stretching his haunches, Bucky gave Cody the option to approach or ignore; the mutt (thankfully) chose the former. Turning from his trance, ears flattened, and tail dropped, the dog slunk to his father’s extended arm. “You a’right? Somethin’s weird, huh?” Animal pulled to his chest and secured with his chin, the concerned owner kept him comfortingly close with a hugging, fur-ruffling embrace. “It’s okay, pal… It’s okay…”

 

But was it okay? Assuming Cody’s watch over the road, Bucky wasn’t so sure. There was nothing physical or tangible to be seen on the road or, indeed, beyond. But the air held something; something _heavy,_ something _foreboding,_ something _off_.

 

 _Always keep an eye on the animals, even as simple as the birds in the trees._ His wife’s experienced advice rang in his ears again; from long before she ever became his wife. _They know before we do that something is about to happen. Listen to them, they could be your lifeline._ If Cody had opened his mouth and plainly told Bucky just then what was about to happen, it wouldn’t have been as clear as his master understood him now.

 

“C’mon, pup.” Bucky decided on diversion, even if he wasn’t entirely convinced all was well as he released his beloved mongrel and nudged him lightly to steer him back towards the farm. “We got chores to do.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the midst of his chores, Bucky’s preoccupation prevailed.

 

Something loomed, something terrible; he could practically taste it, the dread in the atmosphere. But, clawing for some sort of normality, and in a desperate attempt at ignoring the disquiet, he resumed his pre-phone call tasks.

 

The remaining sacks of goat waste hit the little cart with responding **thumps** but with only half the attention; it was either luck or muscle memory that the bags landed the right way. His mind wandered in the routine of it, knowing the labour so well his body simply took over. In the depth of his daze, Bucky was not as sharp in determining the change in Cody’s behaviour as he had been the first time; strangely, since the mutt was more vocal the second time. The children had also scarpered; another aside that did not register yet. The reason was already mid purposeful stride towards his humble dwelling.

 

The barking eventually woke him, shaking him from his monotonous hypnosis, as another bag connected with the wooden base.

 

 _“The hell…?”_ Bucky’s murmur was lost, even to himself, against the backdrop of Cody’s protective bays.

 

T’Challa. Escorted by Okoye. Flanked by two armed members of the King’s Guard that Bucky had almost been drafted to. The object that one of them carried, for now, escaped the White Wolf’s notice.

 

“I knew I wasn’t goin’ crazy.” Bucky’s stride matched and met T’Challa’s, swiftly halving the distance between himself and Wakanda’s ruler; their convergence imminent, and perhaps, the challenge in his tone and his carriage wasn’t entirely intentional. “First Steve tries to call me, then my dog starts goin’ berserk, now you show up. That’s no coincidence. The hell’s goin’ on?!”

 

 _“Take care in how you address-!”_ Okoye’s hissed threat was circumvented by the calming, restraining arm of her king held aloft as she advanced, hot on his heels. Grudgingly, she obeyed the gesture of: _Leave this to me._

 

“Captain Rogers did try to call you.” T’Challa confirmed rationally, glossing over the affront that had affected Okoye on his behalf, but not he himself. To be afflicted by it, had not even crossed his mind. “He wished to speak to you himself, but time is of the essence and I felt it only prudent to come myself.” Much to Okoye’s glaring disapproval, apparently.

 

“I know you have found something… A sense of peace, something that had been robbed from you, and only recently returned.” In a pristinely black tunic, one could be forgiven that before Bucky stood one of the fiercest embodiments of the Black Panther ever to assume the mantle. Yet, here he stood, gentle and compassionate, but urgent and imploring all the same.

 

“I know that with it, you have found so much more. Love, purpose, knowledge, understanding…” Dark eyes flickered to the King’s Guard, the one bearing the object of rectangular proportions who had started to move to the forefront and towards the back of the cart to place down the vessel for a remarkable item. “Mankind has been cruel to you, I know this. But the world has changed, and now she needs us to stand together. Now, we need you. Wakanda needs you. The world, and everyone in it, need you.”

 

James Buchanan Barnes, at a forlorn loss, followed T’Challa’s motioning hand like a lost child. T’Challa retreated and Bucky’s feet automatically carried him in retracing the royal footsteps to the rear of the cart. Under the king’s sympathetic (and apologetic) eye, a work-filthy hand scarcely skimmed the rim of the now open case.

 

Bucky swallowed the urge to sigh and willed his lip not to tremble when his eyes fell upon the contents. There it was: the thing he had already rejected from Shuri upon his curing. The thing that, not having it, kept him safe from his old life of violence and destruction; symbolic, maybe, but no less real for the White Wolf.

 

Set into a plush, grey cushion, the arm itself was beautiful. The sleek appendage of deepest charcoal with veins of gold scattered on the moveable ridges had Shuri’s design imprint all over it. Vibranium, naturally, the near-indestructible metal would have been the material of choice for any warrior; but not every warrior has access to something so sturdy but elegant. While flattery and gratitude should have been the primary emotions, Bucky had a hard time feeling them; let alone showing them, however falsely not to hurt the pride and graciousness of a king.

 

But…

 

Something struck a chord with Bucky, something T’Challa had said. _Wakanda needs you._ His new home, his new family, his new friends, his new community; all of those who had accepted him and his grumpy, self-isolating ways without objection or protest. Those who were always on hand to help him should he need it; despite him making a point of _never_ displaying such a weakness. A habit leftover, perhaps, from Romania; when keeping to himself and self-reliance were essential for survival.

 

Not only did Wakanda and her people need him, but Bucky’s mind, of course, went to his wife. His farm, his animals. Everything he had built from the bare skeleton he had been given to a flourishing, thriving home, farm and business. This… This was personal.

 

He would fight for them. Fight to have Elsa beside him in bed on a lazy Sunday morning. Fight for Cody’s hut-clearing flatulence on the same Sunday morning. Fight for his goats, his chickens and his donkeys. Hell, he’d even fight for the children he and his little vet hadn’t gotten around to having yet. But they would. Because Bucky was going to make sure of it. Damn sure.

 

Lips folded into a thin line of defeat, Bucky decided to honour the unpayable debt he owed to Wakanda, her people and her king; by accepting this brutal gift and using it to ensure the safety of his home and everyone in it.

 

“Where’s the fight?” The resigned and dejected utterance fell directly onto the case and its implicating contents, but T’Challa picked it up, similarly solemn and sombre in solidarity. Still, he loved and respected the White Wolf enough to be frank.

 

“On its way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT BEGINS


	29. Armed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evaporating calm before the brewing storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long!  
> Thank you for staying with me, and thank you to the new subscribers/bookmarkers!

The contrasts between Bucky’s care in Wakanda and his treatment in Hydra’s clutches were terrifyingly stark.

 

There had been nothing to bite, but more to the point, he did not _need_ anything to bite down on.

 

Not when the procedure had been painless, as opposed to excruciating agony that would echo in his flesh and bones for days to come; going back into cryostasis, in fact. 

Not when it was done in a bright, airy, familiar place with a positive affiliation; instead of a dark, dank dungeon laboratory that inspired fear and dread whenever he was literally hauled in there.

 

Not when he was greeted with a warm, affectionate hug by the friend who would carry out the procedure with care. Rather than the cold indifference of random doctors who treated him as little more than a drugged, dangerous animal.

 

Not when he was assured his wife had been contacted and was already on her way. The frightened loneliness of the Winter Soldier when he had just endured a Hydra-sanctioned assault on his being was but a distant memory.

 

“How does it feel?”

 

Bucky’s concentration resided on the foam stress ball; the slow, experimental flexing of his new fist mesmerized him, but not enough to leave Shuri without an answer.

 

“It’s… It’s good.” He replied distractedly, squeezing the little item that would have driven Cody to hysteria before placing it down and moving swiftly onto a glass of water; picking things up seemed a solid basic to start with. “It’s Vibranium? Completely Vibranium?”

 

“Aside from the gold ridges, it is completely Vibranium.” Shuri answered, watching the movement and function of the appendage with an engineer’s scrutinizing eye; looking for potential improvements to be made in the future. “Stronger than steel and only a third of its weight. One hundred percent vibration absorption; which makes for great suits and, in your case, prosthetics.”

 

_Time is of the essence,_ indeed. The conversation flowed through the extraordinary pair, resilient and unperturbed by impending danger, going through the motions of attaching a prosthetic (is it not an everyday activity?) and the aftercare that did not feel rushed. But, used to worse, Bucky hardly felt himself hard done by. Instead, they placidly walked side by side, Shuri escorting her friend to a changing station; as if they walked to lunch rather than preparing for battle.

 

“Had to go the extra mile with the gold, huh?” He prodded with playful scepticism that roused impish smugness in his teenage counterpart. “Cause I wouldn’t’ve already been terrified of losing it or it getting stolen?” Not that the gold was the most valuable part; in fact, the gold, in comparison to the Vibranium, was effectively worthless.

 

“I was feeling a little bit _extra_ when I made it.” The princess confessed; her usual unshakeable swagger unfazed by the events beginning to unfurl outside the palace. “And hey, I thought you deserved something nice. I saw pictures of your old titanium arm; you really needed an upgrade.”

 

“’Preciate it.” The White Wolf chuckled from behind the screen, his next challenge had presented itself: Getting suited up. “It’s a step up, a’right. Lighter, stronger, energy absorbent. It’s great, thank you.”

 

“What about pain? Any pain?”

 

“Lil bit.” Bucky admitted, reaching out to touch the regalia reminiscent of his Howling Commandos attire hanging before him; memories stirring and stinging. “Lil bit of an ache but… I guess that was gonna happen.”

 

“Do you want-?”

 

“No.” Resolute almost to the point of cutting (however involuntarily), Bucky flicked the fasteners on the torso of his tunic; the novelty of it struck him that he would be able to secure himself in something intricate like this without assistance. “No… Whatever’s out there, I wanna face it with a clear head.” As it happened, the ex-Winter Soldier was not even sure what effect traditional painkillers would have on him. Like alcohol, pain relief might have been useless.

 

“There is something else that your old arm didn’t have.” Cryptically (and unaffected by the accidental snap), Shuri waited over the sounds of clothes rustling and being changed; for hygiene purposes, Bucky had washed _before_ the arm was attached. However, the princess was not kept waiting for the chip of curiosity from behind the modesty screen.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Look at your second last finger. Beside your pinkie.” The very idea of Bucky’s last finger on this weapon of a prosthetic being called a _pinkie_ ruffled another huff of laughter, but he did as he was bid. Much to the peculiar crinkling of his forehead when he noticed a discrepancy between that finger and the others. “See the ridge?”

 

“It’s not like the others. What’s it for?”

 

“Your wedding ring.”

 

* * *

 

“How’re we lookin’?”

 

The landing strip of the Citadel withstood the purposeful march of the Avengers; each determined, booted footstep thudded in the wake of Wakanda’s warrior king as the mutual briefing began. With one of them severely wounded, it was clear their presence was as much a personal reaction as a professional one.

 

“You will have my King’s Guard…” T’Challa’s firm response, mid-stride, with his usual royal dignity, resonated his grave concern; for his country, his people and the world he had fought to join. “The Border Tribe… The Dora Milaje… And-“

 

“A semi-stable hundred-year-old man.”

 

The injured one and his companion stepped past him; enveloped in their predicament, Bucky hardly expected them to stop and reminisce about how he had fought with one and against the other on the tarmac in Germany. His main focus, however, was his groomsman, whom he greeted with a light embrace; wouldn’t do to embarrass him, would it?

 

“How ya been, Buck?”

 

“Uhh… Not bad.” The White Wolf chimed; living in marital bliss, perhaps, made an understatement out of that short declaration. “For the end of the world.”

 

“We have much to discuss.” T’Challa intervened earnestly, his priorities did not place Steve and Bucky’s reunion at the top; he made that clear when he intercepted Steve specifically. “Shuri is preparing the lab, then she will assess your friend. But for now, you are going to tell me everything you know.”

 

* * *

 

Perhaps it was Vision’s human tendencies that shone through when he only wanted his beloved present for the initial assessment; the wound, then the Mind Stone. It meant the rest of his avenging party waiting courteously outside.

 

Steve, Bucky and Sam formed one cluster outside the lab, ready to be admitted when the evaluation of Vision’s physical wound had concluded. Natasha, T’Challa, Okoye, Banner and Rhodes formed another.

 

Neither Bucky or Sam took too much notice when Steve tilted to the side, looking past his oldest friend, and down one of the long, vast corridors of the Citadel; the venue of a semi-royal wedding only three weeks previous. Nor did the look of restrained amusement (despite the dire circumstances they found themselves in) register with the Sergeant or the airman; not until the Captain leaned to his other side and addressed his (much) younger counterpart directly.

 

“You’re about to meet the reason I didn’t bring him to Syria.”

 

“Bring me to Syria…?” Bucky repeated, features contorted with the initial twist of confusion. “What’re you…?” Only then did it occur to the White Wolf to pick up Steve’s line of vision but found himself horror-struck when he did.

 

**“Ohhhhh no you don’t!”** He barked, with enough volume for every head in the hallway to turn and follow Bucky’s brief, flustered stride; much to the nonchalance of the khaki-clad young woman it had been aimed at. Without thinking, the Vibranium prosthetic’s first action for her to witness was jabbing the direction she’d come from. But the crux of Bucky’s ire took the form of the loaded Remington 700 strapped to his wife’s shoulder. **“Evacuation transports are that way!”**

 

“A good thing I’m not being evacuated then, isn’t it?” Elsa breezed, making short work of the distance between herself and Bucky with that hip-bouncing strut; all the while ignoring the other curious eyes trained on her. “Otherwise, I’d be going the wrong way. Do you want to tell him or shall I?” Rounding on a somewhat bemused T’Challa, the mahogany ponytail whipped with the force of it but the gesture of a _by all means_ hand relinquished bombshell dropping to the vet.

 

_“I’m going to be in the lab with Shuri.”_ Those soft, private words were only for Bucky, having drawn even with him and brought herself within arm-enveloping distance. Chest to chest, the ex-Winter Soldier did just that: draping his flesh arm across her waist to sate the ache of being apart. _“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to sit with you. I was nearly here when they told me you were alright; that your procedure was almost finished, that it would be best to secure the farm and the animals before everything went to pot.”_

 

_“But why you?”_ The White Wolf forlornly dipped his nose to his soul mate’s forehead, cradling her close without a care for who saw; Natasha Romanoff among them. _“You should be evacuating with everyone else…”_

 

_“T’Challa requested that I stay with Shuri. He said I have the best shot in Wakanda. After my husband, of course.”_ The placating token, the titbit of feeble impishness did not have the desired effect; not when Bucky's mood seemed to plummet with the realization that his wife, like himself, was being placed in danger. She seemed to notice. _“As a last line of defence while the procedure is being carried out. A just in case, darling.”_

 

_“I don’t care.”_ Came the sedated protest; knowing it was already defeated. _“I want you out. I want you safe.”_

 

_“It is not my intention to offend, my love. But if I’m disobeying either my husband or my king, I’m disobeying my husband.”_ That, Bucky could not argue with. He, of all people, knew of service out of gratitude. As it happened, judging by the thickening of doom in the air, it might not have mattered if Bucky had been drafted to the King’s Guard after all; not when he had been fitted with a new weapon and something to wield it with in Wakanda’s defence.

 

_“I know… I just…”_ Bucky’s protective mantling over his wife was reshuffled when she turned her heed to the exquisite prosthetic that she had all but been forbidden from attending the fitting of. Holding a foam stress ball or a glass of water was one thing, but the feel of his beloved’s (significantly smaller) hand in the potentially vice-like grip made his innards squirm; possible injuries running rampant in his mind. _“I just can’t stand the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you…”_

 

_“Then you’ll keep them away from the Citadel, won’t you?”_ Elsa pressed gently, carefully turning Bucky’s new hand (and the arm by attachment) in examination; he allowed her, no resistance. With the mythical metal warm under her reverent fingertips, the Lioness could not help but feel somewhat deflated; everything changed now. Would he need her as much as he had before? Would this change things between them? But the protests for her safety and almost begging her to leave? Thankfully, it seemed not. _“It looks like Shuri got her way in the end…”_

 

Her sentiments ran in the same vein as Bucky’s; only natural when he had explained it at length to such a degree that she could not help but see it from his perspective. That losing his arm in the Alps had marked the end of his life as he knew it. The (forced) adoption of its titanium replacement had marked the beginning of life as a murderous puppet. Losing it again had meant eventual peace, love and progress. Now, with this new (and striking) prosthetic that had been lovingly crafted with the best intentions, he found himself faced with a new fight.

 

_“She’s a princess, angel.”_ The White Wolf replied, grimly parroting Elsa’s sentiments from a few months previous while she continued to half-heartedly examine the invaluable appendage. _“She does what she wants. But this isn’t her. This is a whole lot bigger than Shuri.”_

 

_“Nevertheless, it’s rather handsome.”_ The newlywed’s eyes met again; crestfallen and despondent but resigned to the monumental shifting in their fate so soon into their fresh marriage. _“Like the rest of you.”_ The mutual grimace marked shared discouragement until movement from behind intercepted Elsa’s dismayed attention; Bucky relinquished her to the other enhanced male when the unspoken request registered.

 

“I should have known that when trouble came knocking, you would be in the middle of it.” Even in the midst of terror, Steve took the light-heartedness in the spirit it was intended; the hug and subsequent squeeze upon reaching him was routine, automatic, and returned with sibling-grade love.

 

“What, you want me to let him fight ‘em all on his own?” Steve chirped, seemingly immune to the encroaching menace by constant exposure to danger. “‘Cause I can do that!”

 

“You’re incapable of it, dear.” Elsa’s haughty retort injected some much-needed joviality into the proceedings, among the three, at least, and to the incredulous confusion of the shadowing Falcon. “As I recall, Captain, running headfirst into being outnumbered and outgunned is more your forte than my husband’s.” Again, she could not be argued with and Steve conceded to it.

 

“She’s got ya there, Steve.” Bucky commented dryly, still unamused, unimpressed and simply downright despaired by the recent unfoldings.

 

“Els, this is Sam Wilson.” Steve chipped in, opting not to have Sam alienated and at a loss any longer. The named two behaved the way one would expect; politely extending hands, exchanging murmured greetings and civilities. The fraught relationship between Sam and Bucky had no bearing on the Falcon’s initial reaction to this new addition. “Sam, this is Bucky’s wife. Doctor Elsa Kin- No…” Ever the good-natured guardian of justice, Steve caught himself before he almost introduced his sort-of sister in law by her maiden name. “Barnes.”

 

“Where is everyone?” Bucky had to know and interjecting before his beloved and Sam Wilson got too friendly was probably the best time. Not that jealousy was a factor. While Steve and Sam might have drawn a blank by the seemingly vague or obvious question, it held a deeper meaning that only Elsa would understand.

 

“The goats, donkeys and chickens are in their sleeping arrangements; storm protocol.” The brunette answered with a twinge of guilt, remembering the animals’ incomprehension as the doors were closed and their roaming was cut short. “Cody…” Christ, how Elsa hadn’t wept driving away to Cody’s frenzied screams from the hut and his frantic banging on the door she would never know but… what was the alternative? Have him potentially killed in the crossfire? Or worse? At least at home, he had the chance of being safe; if the idiot didn’t manage to cause himself harm in his distress, of course.

 

The White Wolf could piece it together and to that end, decided not to drag it out of her. Instead, he re-enveloped this precious creature in his arms and, like the night before their wedding, soaked up every second of consoling physicality. _Just in case._ Her mindset must have mirrored his own; resting her dark head against his chest, where his lips seemed to be in a constant press against her forehead, Elsa kept herself close. Whatever was out there, it couldn’t be too bad; not as long as they were together like this. But fate can be cruel and the newly weds were about to discover just how cruel when a familiar teenage face appeared at the door of the lab; like a human crowbar sent to pry them apart.

 

“We’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!


	30. New Friends, Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lines for a battle the likes of which Wakanda has never seen are drawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I got Wanda right!!

There were so many kisses that meant the world to Bucky. So many he could look back on and find it impossible to determine which one was the most important. Only with Elsa, of course; none of the rest mattered when he found the one that made his heart skip a beat.

 

Was it their first kiss; mid-tirade and in a bid to shut her up when she was making too much sense?

 

Was it their wedding day; when they sealed their union and declared themselves as soulmates, a single entity, to their closest friends?

 

Was it the more modest, routine day to day? The lasting, parting pecks in the morning and the reuniting ones in the evening that meant everything there and then? That embodied them as a whole and how they ran their lives together as one?

 

Or… most recently… the last one. The _last_ one. The one he still dejectedly tried to remember on his lips. The one a hand on his shoulder had gently steered him from, to act as an extension of the Avengers by lending his local knowledge in establishing ground defences. In all the quibbles and passive aggression Bucky had willingly participated in with Sam Wilson, he did not and would not resent him for being that hand on his shoulder. He went reluctantly and with near physical pain of being ripped from his other half but dutifully, he left to defend his home and all he held dear within it.

 

The repeated explosions from above, reverberating on the transparent dome, distracted Bucky for a moment; then, it reinforced the decision to protect the place that had protected him.

 

“A'right.” Gruffly, Bucky fell into business mode by the call to arms from his earpiece; Sam was no different. This was personal. “Let’s show these sons of bitches. My dog’ll get pissy if his walk’s late.”

 

* * *

 

The hum of the open-top transport, while normally practically noiseless imposed itself as an insistent buzzing; it was screaming, deafening: only enhancing the fear and apprehension of its occupants.

 

Bucky looked across to Steve; the dignified and silent Steve. Far from an unusual feat to either of them, or even Sam; essentially riding into battle, no one spoke. The tension grated at the warrior turned farmer turned warrior again, so much so that even the sound of his own voice was preferable over the death knell the transport to the frontline emitted.

 

“D’you remember a Second Lieutenant Colm Collins?” Steve tweaked his head in curiosity at the apparently random question. That boy? From so long ago in Europe? “Wanted to join the Howlin’ Commandos after we busted outta Austria, but got yanked back to his unit?”

 

“Skinny, Irish kid in a British uniform?” Rogers thought hard, until he eventually placed a name to the pale, freckled face; even out of thousands of soldiers to cross his path, he managed it. “Bowl cut? Couldn’t understand a word he said? Couldn’t’a been more than twenty?”

 

“Yeah.” Bucky remembered him fondly, but for a different reason than just the Commandos. “That’s him.”

 

“I think I know him. Or… Knew him. Why?” Where was he going with this? His friend’s internal smile, and the so-far unshared significance of the seemingly random soldier prompted another tilt of the Captain’s fair head. “Buck? Wanna share?”

 

“He made it home.” The White Wolf finally divulged, his grin growing until it reached his eyes. “Married that sweetheart he told us about. Had three kids. Two boys and a girl.”

 

The smile was mutual; even if Steve’s was intrigued, while Bucky’s was knowing and involved.

 

“Riiiight. And you know this how?” Bucky’s beam widened, his entire body automatically swaying with the gentle pull of the transport, the hum of it not quite bothering him as much anymore.

 

“Three weeks ago... I married his granddaughter.” Steve, as expected, did not hide the flicker of awed surprise in those handsome features. Trust their exceptional paths to lead to something like that; even if it was the last thing he expected. “Beat that, huh? Of all people. Crazy how things come back around.”

 

“I know he ain’t on the side of good old Robert Kincaid, that sweet kid.” The White Wolf’s face rightfully contorted at the very idea of the kind, naive Colm Collins being in _any_ way related to his loathsome father in law. Well… They had ultimately become connected when Colm’s only daughter met and fell pregnant by the older, married and less than savoury Robert Kincaid but Bucky could gloss over that.

 

“Looks like this is it.” Cold practicality shattered the air of geniality; reality elbowing its way back in. The fond reminiscing had been a humane distraction, but it would not last forever. Nothing good ever did, as they would soon find out. The transport whirred to a halt, dipping ever so slightly on its side to allow the passengers to exit without injury. Injury via the transport, with what they faced now, would be embarrassing irony.

 

Hundreds, maybe thousands, of warriors already lined an invisible front. The King’s Guard, the remnants of the Border Tribe (who attended not only out of duty, but guilt and an eagerness to prove themselves to their rightful king), the Dora Milaje and M’Baku waited with his loyal Jabari; T’Challa was right, M’Baku liked a good fight.

 

* * *

 

Wanda, while often stony-faced and restrictive with her emotions, did not reign in her worry on that dreadful day. True, this place was safe and absolutely everything was being done by a group of outstanding individuals to diffuse this outlandish situation but still, fret plucked. She stayed at Vision’s side, his hand enclosed in hers while mutual utterings of comfort and encouragement floated between the two. Like those outside, a different pitch of whirring set her teeth on edge.

 

 _“Do you think she's alright?”_ Vision's head lifted briefly from the examination table to spy the young woman standing rigid by the window; his scarlet headed companion twisted her neck to follow.

 

_“I don't know...”_

And really, how could one tell? When she faced the window, the vast expanse of African landscape and the growing front line, staring and silent?

 

Wanda, feeling similar anxiety to her own radiating from this other female, gave Vision’s hand a final squeeze before relinquishing it in a bid to find out.

 

The approach was an awkward one. Wanda's eyes took in this tiny creature, smaller than herself but powerful in her stance; and the primed rifle had nothing to do with it.

 

“They're going to do everything they can.” It took a moment for that fearful trance to fracture, splinter and eventually crumble; for the brunette to realize she was being addressed. When she turned her wary gaze to the one they called “Scarlet Witch”, she found it already under concerned scrutiny.

 

Wanda, despite her own trepidation, felt a tug at her heartstrings. While Vision, her own partner, underwent a mind-bogglingly complex procedure, she could not help but pity this poor creature; ashen-faced and completely out of her depth. Unfortunately, but out of necessity, Wanda had acclimatized herself to danger. Taught herself how to run on adrenaline. Expanded her comfort zone to include all manners of weird, wonderful and absolutely terrifying.

 

Elsa… Elsa did not have such a luxury.

 

Bucky had often teased her (playfully, with no malice), accused her of being pampered and spoiled; that assumption was often associated with having money and an opulent lifestyle, and he was not the first to make it. While it might have been true for her father and brothers, it was not so much for Elsa who purposely distanced herself it; associating it with the family she did not particularly like.

 

Naturally, she was quick to remind him that if she was so pampered and spoiled, what was she doing wading through muck and animal waste on a daily basis? When she could have set up a cushy practice in the States or Canada? If she _really_ wanted to put distance between her and her abominable family but in the maximum comfort? Someone so high maintenance would not have volunteered for a “minimally paid” post in some “backwater” African country.

 

 _“I know.”_ Came the uncharacteristic squeak; her previous strength and swagger had evaporated swiftly, and dread had taken their place. _“I know…_ _I trust them… I just…”_

“Trusting them is a start.” Wanda’s gentility had the desired effect: the noticeable (if subtle) relaxing of the little vet’s (Steve mentioned she was a vet, hadn’t he? Was that what Wanda had heard?) terror. “I have only met him briefly, your husband-“

 

_“Bucky.”_

“Bucky…” _Briefly_ was a stretch but even in the limited duration they had fought side by side on the airstrip, the Winter Soldier’s (now _ex_ -Winter Soldier) skills had not gone unnoticed; by Wanda or anyone else. If she could use that meagre observation to bring comfort to a petrified wife, she would do so wholeheartedly. “But I’ve seen how he handles himself. He trusts his instincts, his training and his skills; all that will serve him well out there. Besides…” Wanda’s wry grimace preluded another observation that Elsa had already thought of in an attempt to settle her nerves. “That bunch of lunatics he’s with? Won’t let anything happen to him.”

 

* * *

 

It was a _bloodbath_ ; the like of which Bucky had never seen in all his years of destruction and massacre.

 

More than once, the ex-Winter Soldier had found himself ground into the dirt; disarmed, injured and scrambling but ever the warrior, Bucky strived to get back up again. With mud ingrained in every pore, every muscle aching, the sun in his eyes and fresh gunpowder in his nostrils, there were clear parallels to be drawn from the battlefields of Europe that Bucky thought he had long forgotten. Even when he was down and struggling, the fray went on around him; everyone else almost too occupied with their own foe to have another’s back. It made for a hopeless scene, watching the people he fought toe-to-toe with becoming swiftly overwhelmed; many falling before his very eyes. Even Steve, who (out of a Brooklyn habit) Bucky never let out of his sight, looked drained, dishevelled and willing for it to be over.

 

There was a… was that _a racoon…?_ Firing wildly, recklessly, howling with near-suicidal fervour: **“COME AND GET SOME, SPACE DOGS!!!”** And all Bucky could think was: _I’ve seen a lotta weird shit in my time but… whatever. If I let a talking racoon die, my wife is gonna kill me._ After all, he could only blame her for that thought entering his head in the first place.

 

Before that marvel could be overrun and torn apart too, Bucky reacted; swooping in and catching the demented creature by the scruff and holding it aside to fire into the faces of the oncoming stampede its taunts had attracted. Why stop there? Two guns are better than one and with this small, furry thing wielding something that even _Bucky c_ ouldn’t identify, it only made sense to maximize the damage and combine their firepower.

 

Too focused and adrenalized to get dizzy, Bucky’s trigger finger worked overtime (miraculously without cramping) as the two spun together in a frenzied, murderous merry-go-round; never introduced but assumed to be on the same side. All the while, his new brother in arms goading, mid-spin: **“COME ON!! GET SOME, GET SOME, GET SOME!!”**

 

And just like that, it was over. Probably one of the most outlandish, insane experiences Bucky Barnes would ever have in his extended life; within this larger, outlandish and insane experience, of course. He could recall sharing a strange moment with an animal before (Cody was all kinds of strange) but one never opened its mouth and asked, shouting over battlefield din:

 

 **“How much for the gun?!”** And Bucky calmly and resolutely replying:

 

“Not for sale.” Before self-defence in an uncertain skirmish and attempting to re-establish a victory could become his priority again (and he did try by taking a few opportunistic shots), Bucky was railroaded by another bizarre inquiry.

 

 **“Okay, how much for the arm?!”** That, Bucky would not dignify with a response. Instead, he pursed his lips and lumbered off, more conscious of the weight of his new arm, in search of new prey; he would not need to look far or hard. Whether the uttered threat of: _“Oh, I’ll get that arm…”_ registered was anyone’s guess.

 

* * *

 

Tension-laden conversation with regular, gaping silences, continued in the lab, like a blinkering against the atrocities happening in plain sight on the battlefield below. They (or rather, Elsa) acclimatized to the bloodshed but still, the little vet could think of nothing else but her farmer-turned-soldier and how he was faring.

 

That is, of course, until something on a whole different level of disturbing _literally_ **unearthed** itself.

 

Elsa and Wanda watched in joint horror as the monstrous bulges in the ground tore through the layer of terrain under the dome. The call to fall back was lost to the two onlookers in the lab but they could not help but see dozens of allies mown down like ants under a lawnmower in the blink of an eye. Those giant, metallic claws that ripped through the surface and ground down everything in their path had been a special deployment to maximize damage, and not just on the battlefield.

 

 _“I have to go down there…”_ Wanda declared breathlessly, already turning on her heel to leave with scarlet bulbs of energy smouldering in her palms. But first: a detour to the side of the table where Vision did not try to sway her either way; the redhead did all the near-tearful talking, promising how she would be back soon and how everything would be fine. As if not to fuel or dissuade her, Vision said nothing, just nodded his worried acceptance and fearlessly pressed a chaste kiss to her glowing hand.

 

“You can’t!” Elsa protested in near hysteria, having swung down the rifle when a change in the winds of victory had become thick in the air, and not in their favour. The frenzied blue gaze followed her new friend to the door and their previous instructions resurfaced. “You’ll be killed! What about-?! Steve said-!”

 

“I know what he said.” Those bulbs had started to pulse, fed by determination and resolution; despite what abandoning her post could mean. “And if I don’t go down there… They’ll _all_ be killed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! Do review!


	31. All Questions, No Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exactly a month since I updated this!

It all happened so… _fast._

Right from when Wanda disappeared, the proverbial shit started to hit the proverbial fan; much to the petrified observation of a certain little vet.

 

Sure, there was a brief reprieve on the battlefield when Scarlet Witch appeared and started to tilt the balance in the most _badass_ of fashions; and maybe everyone else was thinking it but Okoye said it loud enough when she said: “Why was she up there all this time?”

 

However, and perhaps, it was paranoid to think it, it felt like a _trap._ Or maybe not. Not when an ominous rumble into an alien com device commanded: “ _She’s on the field. Take it.”_

The King’s Guard and the Dora Milaje, handpicked for their bravery and dedication to the royal family, were not known to scream. Howl and call in battle and bay their response to their king’s battle cry, yes, but not _scream._ The first that ripped from down the corridor made two brunette heads (one darker than the other) turn; first to the disturbance, then to each other.

 

 _“Keep going, Shuri.”_ Elsa’s hand trembled as she checked the rifle: _Loaded. Safety off._

It got closer, whatever it was, and making sure it could be heard; picking off their layers of protection as it made its way towards the lab and Elsa remembered the promise to her husband that might die with her. _As a last line of defence while the procedure is being carried out. A just in case, darling._

Was it hoping that by instilling fear that Shuri might slip up? Get sloppy and, in some way, leave the stone ripe for the taking? If that was the hope, the princess and genius of unrivalled calibre, would disappoint them. Unlike Elsa, she kept her nerve in the far more delicate procedure. Afraid? Yes. Fraught? Absolutely. But she kept true, right up until the last second.

 

 ** _“Keep going, Shuri!”_** Elsa barked again, falling in before her friend, as she’d been drafted: a last line of defence. This thing… This _goblinesque_ thing tore through all before him(?) with one goal and dispatching all in his path. That meant Elsa and Shuri, but true to her word, the vet would do her damnedest first. _“Come on, then.”_ She challenged in a snarl as the last Dora Milaje fell in front of her; just another hunter, just another jeep on her turf. Fear had evaporated, adrenaline and outright offence had taken its place.

 

One shot: **BANG.** It might have rattled the princess, but she kept that infamous focus while the vet prowled for another clean shot. _Six rounds, don’t waste them._ **BANG.** Did she get him? There was a growl and a brief recoil alright but… No, the son of a bitch kept coming whether she hit him or not and Elsa was running out of steps backwards. So… **BANG.**

**BANG.**

Trigger poised, stance ready and waiting for another opportunistic shot, Elsa’s bearing dared the intruder to right himself and give her what she bit on her patience for. Unfortunately, this _creature_ , this _beast,_ was more ready for Elsa than she was for it. Or… it spotted a weakness in the connection between the two human females and used it to his advantage; biding his time.

 

It happened then. When Elsa inevitably turned to check on Shuri for the splittest of split seconds. So swift was the strike that the vet did not even get to turn her head back to her assailant. She barely felt it, scarcely tasted the blood; she certainly didn’t register hitting the floor like a sentimental sack of oats.

 

Only then, did everything go black. Not just for Elsa, but half the universe too.

 

* * *

 

_What the hell…? What happened…? Where am I…? Why is it so quiet…? Ow…_

_Can I move…? Yes, just about… Sluggish, maybe… Is that blood…? Do I taste blood…?_

_Christ, my head hurts… What is that… that sound…? That horrible buzzing…?_

_Bucky…?_

_Head. Ribs. Fingers… Which ones… Not a priority. Wedding ring…? Still there, thank God…_

_Oh God… I feel like I’m going to puke… If I open my mouth, I might but…_

 

_“Shuri…?” Nothing. Of course not. Open your eyes, dear. No… That light… That light is too much… “Shuri, are you alright…?”_

Dragging herself on her stomach in the most agonizing and tormenting of ways, Elsa (despite her effort and what it felt like) did not get far. Blind like a mole and cumbersome like a seal on dry land, she felt her way with gritted teeth and broken fingers. The light, despite her shuttered lids, assaulted her delicate brain like a thousand white-hot knives, penetrating mercilessly with no escape; even curling her head into her chest yielded no reprieve.

 

The drool flowed in a continuous stream but, like everything else, it was not a priority. Or even a conscious recognition that she was, in fact, drooling.

 

 _“Hello…?”_ More silence shrouded by that incessant, grating buzzing. _“Anyone…?”_ Once again, no response. Of any kind.

 

_I have to… I have to get back to the farm._

* * *

If anyone was to railroad Dr Elsa Barnes and interrogate her, under pain of death, as to how she got back to the farm that night, she would not have been able to save herself.

 

In some deep, hidden part of her injured brain, autopilot unlocked her way home; oblivious to the carnage lining the roadside. The bodies, human and alien alike, were mere outlines on the landscape and even if her headlights managed to briefly illuminate them, they were not registered as out of the ordinary. _I have to get back to the farm._ She drummed it into herself, over and over, louder in her head than the howl of the engine; a mantra of self-preservation. _I have to get back to the farm._

 

During the winter months, there were times when Elsa did not return home until after dark, but the farm had been a beacon on the hill for the grateful little vet; lit to guide her way home.

 

_I have to get back to the farm… I need… Bucky..._

 

Now… Now, the shadows encroached like monsters; dowsing the farm in an eerie, silent atmosphere befitting a horror movie. Somehow, the glare of the headlights upon arrival made it worse. The throw of the yellow catching the house (a glorified hut that they had made into a palace in their own minds), then the grazing pen, the vegetable patch then the overnight enclosures as she pulled into her usual spot. Autopilot, all of it.

 

The stumble should have been enough to tell her she was not alright. The difficulty in placing one foot in front of the other should have suggested she was best getting help. But… Help was inside, wasn’t it? Bucky would be there, waiting, arm outstretched to pull her to his chest and heart thundering under her cheek, thanking God she was okay? Sit her down, make her a cup of tea? Kiss her head, help her into bed?

 

But… No fire? No lamp? No smell of cooking?

 

Threshold just about conquered (albeit with strain, pain and more than one slip of her foot), Elsa stood there for the longest time while the glaring abnormality bellowed at her but she could not put her finger on it; addled by the combined blow and collapse.

 

 _“Bucky…?”_ She didn’t get a response in the lab, why would she get one here? Then… Something else, something else struck her, needling the ache in her brain even more; niggling and exasperating her further. _This can’t be right… I could have sworn… He was definitely… I left him here…_

 

_“Cody…?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do review if you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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